


Evermore

by fragile_and_frozen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 09:56:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 26,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragile_and_frozen/pseuds/fragile_and_frozen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Who are you gonna hex, now?" "Anyone who says anything mean about—what's your name?" The twins seemed to realize just then that they had no idea, and when the first—the twin on her right, he always seemed to speak first—asked, the second perked up and immediately turned to look at her. "Ever. Ever Moore." "Your parents must hate you with a name like that." [Rating will probably change later.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on Fanfiction but...I don't like that site much anymore so I'm bringing it here. I don't know what else to say about it. I am really bad at authors notes so I'm gonna just let the story speak for itself.

"What are you reading?" 

"Oh, um...it's called _A History of Magic._ " Ever didn't look up from her book, only curled in on herself a bit in an effort to look...less. She didn't want to be seen, she didn't want to be picked on for being...what had Professor Flitwick called it? Muggle-born. 

"Why are you reading that old tombstone of a book? We could teach you more in five minutes than you could read in a year!" 

"I like it."

"Yeah, well, most muggle-borns will, they like learning about what they're getting thrown into, it's all very interesting to them—"

"But when you've been living in the wizarding world your whole life it really isn't anything serious." 

"Is it..." She peeked up tentatively, and was surprised to see not one boy, as she'd originally thought, but two red-heads, identical in every way. "Is it that obvious I'm muggle-born?"

"Well, you could just be a really bookish kid if you were reading any other kind of book..." began the one on the left.

"...but a lot of kids know the big stories from that one, so they don't delve too far into it."

"But it's not like it's a bad thing to be muggle-born." One boy dropped down on her left while the other took a seat on her right. 

"Who told you that it was?" 

"Well..." Her head was spinning a bit from their back-and-forth, but she felt a bit better, hearing that, and looked between the two, chewing on her bottom lip. "Nobody, but I figured some people wouldn't like it."

"Well, you're right about that," said the twin on her right.

"But that doesn't mean you should hide it."

"Would you want your parents hiding your grandparents, just 'cause they were different?"

"No, but--"

"Exactly!" said the twin on the left. "So don't hide where you came from!"

"And if anyone's mean about it, tell us! We'll hex them!"

"Who are you gonna hex, now?" The three of them jumped, turning to look in the doorway; none of them had even noticed it opening. There stood another boy with red hair, but older. On his chest was a prefect badge, and Ever swallowed hard. Had they been talking too loud? Was he going to get them in trouble. 

“Anyone who says anything mean about—what's your name?” The twins seemed to realize just then that they had no idea, and when the first—the twin on her right, he always seemed to speak first—asked, the second perked up and immediately turned to look at her.

“Ever. Ever Moore.” The boys, all three of them, grinned; the oldest seemed to be trying to bite his back, with little success.

“Your parents must hate you with a name like that,” said the twin on her right.

“Anyway, anyone who's mean to Miss Moore about being muggle-born,” the twin on her left finished the little explanation. The older boy sighed.

“Boys, you know that as a prefect I'm going to have to tell you that you're not allowed to hex anyone, no matter what new slurs they manage to come up with for muggle-borns this year...and they will come up with some,” he muttered under his breath. He glanced over his shoulder and stepped into the compartment, sliding the door shut behind him in a swift, practiced move. “But as your brother, may I recommend _petrificus totalus?_ It won't get you in trouble much, 'cause it doesn't hurt anyone, but it'll stop 'em right in their tracks.”

“See, this is why you're our favorite brother,” Twin One—she'd decided that's what she was going to call the one on her right, until she learned his name—said to the prefect, grinning widely.

“Yeah, Percy never teaches us anything cool like that.”

“Yeah, well if you'd been reading your spellbook you'd know it already. Ever.” The girl jumped at her name, wiping the little smile at their interaction from her face. “I'm Charlie Weasley. One of them is Fred and one is George, and you'll have to ask which is which because they never tell me—“

“Oh, but on a day like today, the first day of term,” began Twin One.

“And when you've just given us such an amazing spell to work with,” Twin Two pitched in.

“We will bestow upon you our greatest of gifts.”

“He's Fred.”

“That's George.”

“And we'll probably never tell you honestly again,” they finished together. Ever glanced between the two of them inconspicuously, trying to find little hints to tell the two of them apart, but came up with nothing. 

“Fat lot of good that'll do once the two of you switch places, but thanks, I guess.” Charlie turned his gaze back to Ever, and she found there one difference between the brothers; his eyes were blue, while the twins' were brown. “I'm in Gryffindor, but even if you're not, don't hesitate coming up to ask for help. The prefects are always meant to help anyone from any house. You may wanna stay away from the blokes in green though, alright?” The girl nodded thoughtfully, chewing on her bottom lip, and he patted her on the shoulder. “Good on ya. I have to get back to patrols. You two.” He fixed his eyes—they were very blue, weren't they? Quite pretty, really, if you liked that sort of thing, and Ever most decidedly did not—on the twins. “Behave. Don't torment the poor girl.” 

“Sir, yes sir!” They saluted. Charlie rolled his eyes, but was smiling as he turned to walk out of the door. 

There was an awkward lull in conversation for a moment, and then Fred jumped across to the seat opposite Ever to get a better look at her. George quickly followed suit, and the two of them sat, staring her down. She fought the urge to cover her face with the book on her lap. 

“Um...so—“ 

“D'you have a purple tongue?” Fred asked.

“What? No! It's red just like anyone else's—“

“And what about webbed feet?” George inquired.

“No...should I?” 

“We don't know. What's standard protocal for a muggle-born witch's body?”

“I suspect it's the same as a witch with magical parents!” Ever could feel her face heating up, and did grab the book, hugging it to her chest. “Why are you asking all these stupid questions? I'm human, just like you, even if my mum and dad haven't got any magic!”

“We didn't mean to offend,” said Fred, so sincerely that the girl couldn't even begin to doubt him; still, she clutched the book to her chest tightly, looking down at her kicking feet. “See, our dad is in the Ministry of Magic—“

“There's a Ministry?”

“Of course! Who else d'you think makes all the rules?” George asked, blinking down at her.

“I dunno, some mighty magical warlock.” The twins snickered—even their laugh was exactly the same—and shook their heads. 

“Nah, there's a Ministry, and our dad works there and he's mad about muggles and muggle-borns.”

“We hear all sorts of things that he says when we're not meant to be out of bed, and we were curious.”

“Did you ever think,” Ever began slowly, picking at the leather binding of her magic book— _magic book!_ She could still barely believe it—“that he says that stuff because he knows that you're out of bed when you're not meant to be?” The twins looked at each other, dumbstruck. “No, I thought not,” she giggled, sliding her book into her bag. “Parents are more clever than you give them credit for.”

“Oh, our mum would love you,” said Fred, sounding more disgusted than happy about it. For a good while—maybe half an hour or so—there was quiet, with only the rattling of the train to keep the silence from being absolute, but it was more comfortable now. Ever thought she ought to say something, but didn't really know where to begin—and then the door slid open again.

“Everything alright in here—oh, it's you two.”

“Well 'ello Big Bill! How are you this fine afternoon?” 

“Shut it, Fred.”

“He's not Fred, I am!” And he was telling the truth, but Ever barely noticed, because here was another red-head with blue eyes the exact same shade as Charlie's. He even had a badge like Charlie's, but the P had been changed to HB. 

“Whatever. You two alright? Not bothering this girl about whether she's got spots in places she shouldn't have?”

“We're not bothering her,” the twins chorused, and when the older boy looked at Ever to confirm it, she nodded quickly.

“We're just talking, honest.” He seemed satisfied, and nodded to the three of them before sliding the compartment door shut. Ever turned to stare at the twins.

“Just how many of you are there?” 

“In school or in general?” Fred asked, propping his chin up in his hands. 

“There are some who aren't in school?” Both boys nodded, George mimicking Fred's posture. “In general, then.” 

“Well, there's Bill—“

“He's the one you just met,” George explained. 

“I dunno if I'd call that a meeting, really.”

“Yeah, well he's busy, being Head Boy and all. He's the oldest, he's seventeen,” said Fred, holding up one finger.

“Then there's Charlie,” said George, and Fred added another finger to the first. “He's fifteen.”

“Percy,” Fred grimaced, putting up a third finger. “He's thirteen, and insufferable.” 

“What's so bad about him?” 

“What's good about him?” the twins muttered in unison.

“Anyway, then there's me,” said George.

“Then me,” said Fred.

“And you're both first years too, right?” 

“Yep,” they agreed.

“Then Ron. He's nine.”

“Bit annoying, but not so bad,” Fred piped up.

“And Ginny's just turned eight this past month.” 

“I dunno how your mum and dad handle you two, let alone seven,” Ever snickered.

“We ask ourselves that every night before we go to sleep,” said Fred, glancing out the window. “It's getting dark.” 

“We better head down to the powder room to change,” said George. “We'll be there soon.” 

“We'll uh.” The twins flushed a bit, looking down at their trainers. “We'll knock before we come back in, yeah?” 

“Oh, um, yeah,” Ever mumbled, hopping to her feet to drag down her trunk. The boys grabbed their robes and were gone in an instant, the compartment door banging shut behind them. As she dressed, she composed her first letter home in her head.

_Dear Mum,_

_I haven't really been here long, I know, but I've made a couple of friends, first years like me. Their names are Fred and George Weasley, and they're perfectly silly boys with hair fire-engine red, if you can believe anyone's can be so bright naturally—but it is, because I've seen two of their brothers and they have it too!..._


	2. Chapter 2

“Firs' years, this way!” 

The man swinging the lantern was absolutely massive. He had to be nine or ten feet tall, with a scraggly beard and black eyes that were beady, but not unkind. He seemed used to the stares of young students, because when he saw Ever's eyes fixed on him, his mustache merely twitched around the corners. 

“To'rd the boats, miss, jus' that way,” he rumbled, and swung the lantern in the direction of the...pond? No, it was too big to be called a pond. Lake, then. The school grounds were massive enough that they had room for a lake, alongside the castle. 

“The boats?” she whispered to Fred and George, swallowing hard.

“Yeah, we don't have to row or anything, it's all propelled by magic—“

“I just don't like water.”

“Why not?” George whispered, glancing back at her. He was holding hands with his brother—so they wouldn't get separated, she supposed—and when he saw her face, he extended his free hand to her. She swallowed hard, grabbing on tight, and he pulled her level with the two of them. 

“It's going to be fine. Just close your eyes and breathe.”

“You won't even feel it moving, I've heard,” Fred added, leaning forward to look at her across his brother. “And there aren't a lot of people in the boat—“

“I think only four—“

“So it doesn't get overly crowded.” 

“Okay,” Ever whispered, squeezing George's hand. He grinned at her—a crooked grin with really nice teeth, something she wouldn't have imagined before he flashed them at her, and a dimple on the right side of his mouth. Maybe that was something that was different? But then Fred flashed her the same grin, quick, reassuring, and with an identical dimple.

It took them a few minutes to get down to the boat, crowded together like that, clinging to each other's hands so they didn't get torn apart by the swarm of first years, but eventually they managed to find a little boat that had enough space to fit the three of them. A boy was sitting on the second bench, with dreadlocks and a skin tone like dark chocolate. His looked up at them as they clambored in, smiled a bit nervously as Ever sat down beside him, and she noticed his eyes were somehow even darker. 

“You alright?” he asked as she folded her arms around her middle. “You look a bit pale.”

“I don't like water much,” she confided, glancing nervously over the side of the boat; it wasn't very high, and with four healthy eleven-year-olds, who knew if it would hold up.

“I'm glad I'm not the only one.”

“You don't like water?” 

“Nah, I get sea-sick. Who are they?” Ever looked between the two—they were smirking back at her now, daring her to introduce them, to get it wrong—and she poked the one on the left with her foot. 

“I call 'em Twin One and Twin Two in my head when I don't know which is which, but they can tell you their actual names.”

“He's Fred.”

“That's George.”

“They don't seem capable of introducing themselves,” Ever stage-whispered to Lee behind her hand. “They only ever say each other's names.”

“You've only heard one of our introductions!” Fred protested, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Yeah, how could you know?” 

“Well, whichever of you is which, I'm Lee Jordan.” 

“Nice to mee—“

The boats lurched and started forward, effectively ending any form of conversation for Lee. He took deep breaths through his nose and out of his mouth, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the end of the boat rather than the water. It was only when the castle came into view that he seemed to feel better—if only because he was distracted by his first time seeing it.

Ever had thought the twins were exaggerating when, as they'd gotten off the train, they'd said Hogwarts was a castle...but it really was a _castle_! It was huge, it was gorgeous, it was...majestic. Those words didn't fit it, not in her head, but she didn't have the vocabulary to describe the pillars and towers and swoops and stones...there was so much and she must have looked like a cartoon character, the way her head whipped back and forth in an attempt to take in everything. For once, she wasn't alone; nearly all of the first years were looking around in the same way, even the twins. She wanted to say something, but she didn't want to ruin the moment with words she didn't have, and it was impossible to describe what she was feeling at any rate. She put one hand over Lee's on the bench, and reached forward with the other to place it between Fred and George. Their hands covered her's in the next instant.

It felt like a lifetime, the four of them sitting there and staring in awe as the castle slowly grew closer, but it couldn't have been more than ten minutes before the boats were docking on the banks on the opposite side of the lake. Ever had forgotten her fear of water; she wanted to sit and look at the castle for the rest of the night, and on into the day so she could see it as the sun rose. 

“C'mon, we can't miss the sorting.” One of the twins—she'd lost track of which was which again—grabbed her hand, pulling her easily out of the boat. Nervous conversation flowed around them about everything from the giant of a man leading them into the castle to what the sorting would be like. Maybe even the children of witches and wizards weren't told everything about how Hogwarts worked...

“What's the sorting?” 

“It decides what house you'll be in,” Lee murmured, fighting to keep close to Ever and the Weasleys. “Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or Slytherin.”

“And...which are the ones in green?” 

“That's Slytherin,” Fred mumbled as they made their way through the high wooden doors and into the...

“This must be the Entrance Hall,” Lee whispered. It felt wrong, somehow, to speak out loud just then, like it would have been defiling some sacred rite of passage. 

_Dear Mum,_ she composed in her head, picking at her bottom lip with her teeth. _This castle is huge and it doesn't feel like home without you. I don't know what I'm doing here yet but it's glorius, I don't even have the words to describe it, and I wish you could be here to see it._

Her let was cut off abruptly when the door in front of them swung open and a tall, stern-looking woman—stern, but not unkind, she thought, there was something about her eyes that didn't seem unkind at all—entered the room in a sweep of green robes. 

“First years,” she said, and the way her voice rang made all conversation that hadn't petered out when she entered cut off abruptly. “I am Professor McGonagall. Follow me.” 

They did, silently, in a single-file line. The next room was five times the size of the last, with four long tables running down it and one running across at the opposite end. The professor led the way, and they followed wordlessly, staring at the ceiling—how did they make it look like the sky? Would she be learning that kind of magic? Ever wondered how difficult it was, how many people it had taken to do that—and the floor, the students around them and the teachers in front of them. Professor McGonagall cut a straight line between the two tables, to the head of the hall, and there she placed a stool. On that stool, she placed a hat. The first years stared at it for a moment, perplexed, until a rip in its brim opened up and it began to sing. Ever didn't hear the words of the song; she was too busy staring at the hat. This was like something straight out of a Disney movie, except...well, the hat sounded like a fifty-year-old man who had smoked his whole life.

“How does it do that?” she hissed, leaning forward so Lee—in front of her in line—could hear. He shrugged.

“Not sure. You'd have to ask Professor McGonagall, or maybe even Professor Dumbledore.” Ever opened her mouth to ask exactly who Professor Dumbledore was, but the hat had fallen silent, and now Professor McGonagall was unrolling a scroll of parchment. 

“When I call your name,” she began, watching the first years with steely eyes that seemed to dare them to make a sound while she was speaking, “you will come sit on the stool and place the Sorting Hat upon your head. You will then go to your assigned table. Andrews, Janet.” A girl, small for her age, blonde, and looking extremely scared scampered up to the stool and put the hat on. 

“RAVENCLAW!” The middle-left table roared with approval, and the girl, looking relieved, placed the hat back on the school and ran to it. Ever breathed a sigh of relief; was it really that simple? All you had to do was put the hat on your head and then your table cheered? She watched as the professor read through the B's and C's, chewing on her bottom lip. She wished she'd been able to really listen to the Sorting Hat's song. Maybe he had sang about the houses, and which was which, what made them different. 

“Jordan, Lee.” Ever jumped when her new friend's name was called, watching him make his way up to the stool. He didn't look nervous, like nearly everyone else had. He didn't look much of anything. The hat was on his head for less than ten seconds.

“GRYFFINDOR!” 

Professor McGonagall smiled—just a quirk of the lips, really—and Lee ran to the screaming table on the far left. Now K and L were the only letters separating Ever from her turn on the chair, and she found herself torn between wishing there were quite a lot of people with last names that began with those two letters and just getting this sorting over with. 

There were exactly two. Laurel, Krickett became a Hufflepuff and Laurance, Theodore became a Ravenclaw.

“Moore, Ever.” 


	3. Chapter 3

Could she take this back now? Could she turn around and get on the train and go back home, where it was safe and she knew exactly what was going on and what she was doing? McGonagall glanced over the edge of the parchment, scanned the first years in line, and Ever decided no, she couldn't, and began making her way up to the stool. Her legs were shaking and she couldn't quite breathe right; her chest felt really tight and her throat was threatening to close up. She almost fell when she got to the stool, but managed to catch herself and sat down, slowly lowering the hat onto her head.

The Sorting Hat spoke.

She could barely hear it. Mostly, it seemed to be mumbling to itself, but she knew that this was the same voice from the song earlier. Now it seemed to be right around her ears. 

“Right then,” Ever heard it mutter once, and then it fell silent, not completely, but speaking so quietly that she couldn't pick it up. The next ten seconds were the longest of her life. 

“GRYFFINDOR!” 

Gryffindor. She would be with Lee, and Charlie the prefect, and everything was going to be fine! It took a moment to sink in, and then she was grinning, hopping up from the stool and placing the Sorting Hat gently back there. She could hear the twins wooping, and saw McGonagall shoot a stern glance to the queue of first years before she was heading to the far left table with Lee. He was surrounded by flaming red hair. 

“So you've found the rest of the Weasleys,” she whispered as she sat down beside him. Charlie winked at her before turning his gaze to the front. She followed his lead. It seemed, now that her own sorting was over with, that names flew by so quickly she could barely keep up with who was sorted where. N, O, and P were gone before she knew it, and the professor was calling for “Weasley, Fred.” 

“Oi, not another one!” someone shouted from across the room, the green and silver table on the far right. That table laughed, but one glance from Professor McGonagall silenced them as Fred jammed the hat on his head. 

“GRYFFINDOR!” it yelled almost immediately. The lopsided grin that Ever was quickly becoming fond of practically broke his face, and she screamed and cheered with the rest of her house as he sauntered down to sit beside her. 

“Are you actually Fred, then?” she whispered. He winked at her, but said no more.

“Weasley, George.”

“There's two of them?” the same voice from before rang out. Ever put a hand on Fred—George's?—arm when he made to jump up, but craned her head to look for the voice herself. 

“Mr. Flint,” Professor McGonagall was saying, one thin eyebrow cocked dangerously. “Do you really want to lose your house points before the Sorting is even done with?” The boy didn't reply, so McGonagall nodded to George—Fred?—and though the boy didn't stop glaring at Flint, whoever that was, he threw the hat onto his head. 

“GRYFFINDOR!” The Gryffindor table roared, and the boy's twin, whichever twin he was, whooped the loudest of all. He made his way down to the table with a grin that matched his brother's beside her and sat beside his twin, who clapped him on the back. Xavier, Brett was the last to be sorted (into Slytherin) and Professor McGongall took up the stool and the hat, disappearing from the front of the room. A man in the middle of the table, one with a long white beard and hair even longer, stood and looked around the room. Everyone fell silent.

“To our new students, welcome,” said the man. “To our old students, welcome back.” Though his voice was quiet, it carried across the room. Maybe it was magic. Maybe it was just that the respect this man commanded—simply, pleasantly, but definitely—made noise from the students in the room nonexistant. He spread his hands, and food filled the golden platters in front of them. “Dig in.” 

“Who is he?” Ever asked, scooping mashed potatos onto her plate.

“That's Dumbledore,” said Fred—or, the twin that had been sorted as Fred—through a mouthful of chicken. “He's mad.”

“Fred,” Charlie began.

“He's not Fred, I am,” said the twin that had been sorted as George. The red-head on Charlie's right—Ever hadn't really noticed him before, he'd had his face stuck in a book thicker than _A History of Magic_ until that moment—looked up at the boys increduously. 

“The two of you switched around at your own sorting?”

“What's it matter?” George asked, taking a bite of toast spread thick with jam.

“Yeah, we both got sorted into the same house, didn't we?” 

“That's hardly the point!” the older brother—Ever scraped around, trying to remember his name out of the two brothers she hadn't met before the sorting...Ron? No, Percy—spluttered, slamming his book shut and dropping it on the bench beside him. “What would Mother say about it?” 

“Couldn't imagine,” said Fred.

“Should write and let us know,” said George. Percy, quite red around the ears now, stabbed at a piece of chicken with his fork, determinedly not looking at either of them. 

“Anyway,” Lee sighed, cutting into his steak, “Dumbledore is the headmaster of the school.”

“He's the headmaster? Shouldn't he have...I don't know, announcements or something then?” Ever asked, twirling spaghetti around her fork and popping it neatly into her mouth.

“He usually saves that stuff until the end of the feast.” Bill grabbed another slice of toast from the plate in front of him. “He may be barmy, but that doesn't make him stupid. A hall full of teenagers with empty stomachs who've been on a train all day? He knows we won't listen before supper.” The girl nodded, nibbling at the edges of her toast. 

The feast went by without a hitch. Somehow, even with hundreds of students seated in the hall, the noise level didn't get very loud. Ever supposed that was a product of the magic, because Fred and George alone yelled and laughed quite frequently with their brothers and Lee Jordan, but nobody seemed to give them a second look. An hour and a half or so passed while the students ate their fill, and Ever tried to piece together words and bits of information that she didn't understand, like _transfiguration_ and _apparating—_ apparently Bill had taken the test for whatever apparition was and had passed it on his first go—and _flooing_ and a variety of other things. When she could get a word in edgewise, she asked, and what Lee and Fred and George couldn't explain, Charlie and Bill were happy to fill her in on. Mostly, though, she was content to sit and listen and eat her chocolate pudding until a light tap on a wine glass caught every student's attention.

Professor Dumbledore was standing at the head of the hall again, his mouth quirked up in a smile that crinkled his eyes behind his half-moon spectacles. He was silent for a moment, scanning the hall to make sure he had everyone's undivided attention.

“First, let me take this opportunity to welcome you again,” he said, folding his hands behind his back. “Mr. Filch has asked me to remind all students that the Forbidden Forest is, of course, forbidden.” The gulps of the first years—Ever's included, particularly when Fred and George flashed their crooked grins at each other—was almost audible. Professor Dumbledore's eyes crinkled up around the edges, as if he was trying not to smile. “And allow me to introduce you all to our new Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher, Angel Black.” He waved his hand to his left, and a man with long white hair flung over one shoulder in a braid lifted his hand, smiling slightly. The man beside him—a mean looking man with hair as black and looking as greased as oil was—sneered at him, but Professor Black didn't seem to notice. Ever glanced at Bill, who rolled his eyes, holding up one finger mutely— _later._ She nodded and turned her gaze back to Dumbledore.

“Term starts tomorrow. First years will find their schedules posted on the bulliten boards in their common rooms. Rest well.” He did smile then, and lifted one hand in a sweeping motion. Most of the candles were put out, with just a few still lit to guide the way out of the hall. 

“He is so cool,” Ever whispered as they stood up. 

“Yeah,” said Charlie, “but you've gotta take him seriously. _Gryffindor first years, follow me!”_

Again, the twins grabbed onto each other, Fred holding George's hand and George grabbing Ever's. Ever offered her hand to Lee, and he took it a bit shyly but grinned at her all the same. The crowd wasn't thick—there couldn't be more than three hundred students or so—but at least eighty of those were Gryffindors, and it seemed that all of the older kids were fighting their way to the front so they could get to bed.

“Not that it will do them much good,” Charlie muttered to the four of them. “The only ones who know the password are the prefects and Bill, and he's down there with Nikki and Vincent.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Ever glanced back, but she couldn't see Bill and had no idea who the other two people were. 

It took quite a while to get to the top of the staircases, with Charlie instructing them on trick staircases and doors and telling them to remember that the stairs moved around, so you had to watch what you were doing. Paintings decked the halls, and people were _moving_ in them, scratching their noses and chatting together and drinking and smoking cigars and calling out to students they knew! Some smiled and waved at the new students, and others turned up their noses at them. 

“Fred...George...” Ever began slowly, tearing her eyes away from the moving portraits, “what would the two of you have done if you were sorted into different houses?” George blinked back at her and turned to look at Fred.

“Well...I dunno.”

“But I doubt it would've happened,” said Fred.

“And even if it did, the hat sorted us.”

“Not our names.”

“We would've belonged wherever we went.”

“It just knew we belonged together,” they chorused. Ever smiled at both of them, while Lee rolled his eyes behind her.

“You two sound like a coupla lovebirds, not twins.” Before the twins could retort, Charlie stopped in front of a portrait that depicted a very fat lady in a pretty pink gown. 

“Hello, Madame,” he said, grinning up at her. Her cheeks flushed a pink that rivalled her dress, and she waved her hand at him. 

“Oh, stop it you. Trying to butter me up for later wrongdoings, I suspect. Password, dear?” 

“Bouncing bulb.” The Fat Lady inclined her head slightly, and the portrait swung away from the wall to reveal a common room so warm and cozy that Ever felt sleepy just looking at it. There were overstuffed armchairs, tables filled with books and one with a chessboard, the pieces lined up in a position to play. 

“Boys' dormitories are up the stairs on your left, girls the same on your right,” said Charlie. “Get on up to bed now. Tomorrow will be long, I assure you.” He dropped a wink in their direction and started ushering children up the stairs. 

“Well...see you tomorrow in class, then?” Ever asked, biting down on her bottom lip. She didn't want to leave them, not yet. They were the only people she knew, and somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered if all of this, the friendship, would be done and over when class started in the morning. The fears were blown away when the three boys smiled sunnily, smiles that she couldn't help returning.

“Yeah, 'course,” said the twins in unison, and Lee nodded his agreement. She went off towards the common room with a little wave and climbed the stairs slowly, wondering how she was going to find her dormitory, but the first door she saw was clearly labled “First Years”, right at the top of the stairs. Ever took a deep breath, wondering what her roommates would be like, before turning the knob. 

“—and it really isn't fair that first years can't have brooms! How else are we meant to try out for Quidditch?” one of the girls, with light brown skin and long black hair down her back, was saying. She was facing away from Ever, so she couldn't see her face at first, but the girl cocked her head and turned when the door creaked rather loudly. The second girl, with darker skin and dark brown eyes to match, smiled a bit shyly. They were the only two in the room, and there were only three beds; Ever was the last one to arrive. She cleared her throat, imagining it would take the edge from her nerves.

“H—hi,” she stammered.

“Hello!” said the first girl, smiling brightly. “I'm Alicia and that's Angelina—“

“Oi, I'm perfectly capable of introducing myself, thanks!” 

“What's your name?” 

“Ever.” She was a bit taken aback by how easily Alicia spoke, but found that she liked her nonetheless—or, she liked what she could see of her. Her eyes were kind and her smile was genuine.

“Nice to meet you,” said Angelina sweetly. “I think I'm going to turn in though, Li, I'm bushed.” 

“Me too.”

“And me,” Ever agreed, feeling she ought to say something as she made her way to the empty bed. The three of them smiled at each other with a touch of awkwardness, and one by one closed the curtains around themselves.


	4. Chapter 4

“Right,” Ever mumbled, scanning the schedule that had been posted on the bulletin board, just as Dumbledore had said it would be. “Transfiguration, then Herbology, then lunch...then Defense Against The Dark Arts...and Charms. Right. Got it. I think.”

“Talking to yourself, Moore?” She jumped, glancing back over her shoulder, and sighed when she found Charlie there. “That's never a good sign.”

“I'm just...trying to figure out what transfiguration is.”

“Oh, that's what Professor McGonagall teaches.” He peeked over her shoulder, scanning the the schedule. “Right, so McGonagall is on the fourth floor, I have a break so I'll take you there. Herbology is out on the grounds in the greenhouses, you'll be able to find it easily enough.”

“Yeah, but...what do you _do_ in all these classes?” Charlie ruffled his hair, then smoothed it back down.

“Well, in Transfiguration, you...transfigure things. Turn one thing into another. It starts off with simple stuff, like matches to needles and beetles to buttons. Next year you can turn a rat or a bird into a goblet.”

“Doesn't that hurt the animals?” she asked, feeling sick at the thought. “Can you turn them back afterwards?” 

“I...” He paused, spiking his hair back up all over again as he thought it over. “I have no idea. You'll have to ask Professor McGonagall.”

“Ask her what?” 

“If there's a spell to be able to tell you two apart,” said Charlie promptly, barely even glancing over his shoulder at the twins as he pondered Ever's question. 

“I heard she can turn into a cat,” said Fred.

“Yeah, she can,” Charlie muttered absently.

“How?!” Ever exclaimed, eyes wide.

“She's an animagus. Means she can turn into an animal,” Charlie explained with a sigh, giving up completely on finding an answer for Ever of his own, before turning toward the twins. “Come on then, you three. Er, four,” he added when Lee stumbled up behind Fred and George, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Ever bit back a laugh; apparently Lee wasn't a morning person. 

“Where are we going?” Lee mumbled, shuffling along slowly.

“Transfiguration.”

“We haven't had breakfast yet!” the twins protested. Charlie sighed and conjured a few pieces of toast, distributing them between the four. 

“We don't have time for much else, sorry.” Ever didn't complain; she was too busy examining the toast in front of her, amazed by its very existence. How had he done that? When would she learn how to do it herself? Fred noticed, and George glanced up at her a second later. The two of them snickered, each looping their free arms through hers as they followed their brother from the common room. 

“Why is it,” she wondered, staring at the torches that lit up the corridors, “that the castle doesn't have electricity?”

“Magic interferes with it,” Charlie said, looking back over his shoulder at her. “It just doesn't work around us.”

“But when I used magic at home, before I even knew what magic was...well, I guess it was magic...it didn't make the lights flicker or anything.”

“Well, it wouldn't. One witch, particularly an untrained one, doesn't have enough concentrated magic to do anything to affect it.” The older Weasley slid his hands into the pockets of his robes easily as he started down the stairs. “But the school has about four hundred of us right now.” Ever nodded, sliding her arms free from the twins' grasp to wrap them around herself. Before Charlie had said “witch”, she'd never thought of herself as one. Now, after the day before and walking through a magical castle with students holding wands and rolls of parchment instead of pens and notebooks, she couldn't deny that was what she was. She supposed she hadn't really been able to deny it before, not when things she needed suddenly appeared in a place she'd looked two seconds before or the stove catching on fire when she was really impatient for her grilled cheese to be done had been happening around her for years, but being at Hogwarts made it seem very real and very scary put up beside her little two-bedroom cardboard cutout home in Cardiff, where everything was...normal, where magic didn't exist, and unexplained things were miracles of God instead of wishful thinking coming to life.

“Alright, Ever?” Lee asked. “You've gone a bit peaky.” 

“Oh. Yeah. Fine.” She forced a quick smile at him and focused her gaze on Charlie's back. Hadn't he said that Transfiguration was on the fourth floor? What floor were they on? She had to stop zoning out; she was going to end up getting lost. At the bottom of the staircase, the prefect veered off to the right. She counted the doors they passed...one...two...three, and he stopped in front of the fourth. 

“Right,” Ever murmured, “Fourth floor, turn right, fourth door on the right.” 

“You got it,” said Charlie, and flashed his crooked smile—was that a Weasley trademark? Did Bill smile like that too? “Class'll be starting soon, so you four should go find decent spots.” 

“Right,” said Lee. “Dibs on the back!”

“Oi, wait a minute!” the twins cried, running after him into the classroom. Ever giggled when Charlie rolled his eyes.

“Thanks for helping us get here.”

“S'what I'm here for.” She waved and turned toward the door, but before she'd taken two steps, the prefect had called her back. “Don't forget to ask McGonagall,” he said. “You've got me curious.” 

The first Transfiguration class of the year began when the cat on Professor McGonagall's desk jumped into the air and morphed into the woman who had handled the Sorting ceremony the previous evening, to the ooohs and aaahs of all present. The hour and a half that followed was considerably less exciting, much to the twins' and Lee's disdain. Notes were written on the blackboard for the students to take down, and while Ever, in her seat in front of the three between Angelina and Alicia, copied them down dutifully, the three of them entertained themselves with “dueling” behind her. A warning was issued halfway through the classroom from the stern professor, and for a brief period—about fifteen minutes—there was silence, broken only the scratching of quills and a quiet cough now and then. When the grace period was up—and with a quick glance in McGonagall's direction—the boys continued their quill duel.

The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan received their first detention on September 2nd, 1989, before their first class was over. The punishment didn't seem to effect their good humor, though for the next half hour they resigned themselves to doodling on their rolls of parchment. When McGonagall dismissed the students—Ever decided that her question could wait until the next lesson, because the poor professor had already been tried by her new friends—the first year girl leaned against the wall outside of the door, waiting for the three to finish up the finishing touches on the details of their detention.

“Are you friends with those three that were sitting behind us?” Alicia asked, flopping back against the wall beside Ever. She took a deep breath, determined not to be nervous around her classmates anymore, and managed a smile.

“Yeah, I met them on the train yesterday. They were really nice and kind of...um...helped explain about Hogwarts and magic and...stuff,” she finished lamely. 

“They're rather cute, aren't they? The red-heads?” She looked to her left and found Angelina leaning on her other side.

“I guess so. I hadn't really thought about it.”

“So you're muggle-born, then?” Ever nodded, picking at the skin around her thumb. “You must've thought I was mad yesterday, talking about quidditch! Do you know what that is?” She looked up at Alicia, and when she found her looking genuinely curious instead of disgusted, she smiled and shook her head.

“Well, you see,” Alicia began, sliding down the wall to sit cross-legged on the floor. Ever and Angelina followed suit. “You've got seven players on a quidditch team. Three chasers, two beaters, a keeper, and a seeker.”

“What do the chasers chase?”

“The quaffle,” said Angelina. “It's a red ball about...this big.” She held her hands apart, a bit wider than a basketball. “There are two more types of balls in the game. Two bludgers and the golden snitch. The bludgers are about...” She held out her hands again to demonstrate something about the size of a softball. “And the snitch is about...hm.” She held her fingers together in a little circle just a bit bigger than a golf ball. 

“So the chasers catch get the quaffle. At the end of each pitch there are these three tall poles with hoops on the end, and they throw the quaffle through to get ten points,” Alicia explained.

“Right, but the keeper blocks the hoops.”

“So the keeper is like a goalie in hockey?” When both girls shot her confused glances, Ever shook her head. “Nevermind. It's a...muggle sport.” The word “muggle” still felt strange in her mouth. “I'll tell you about it later, if you want. Keep going.”

“Right,” said Angelina, shaking her head—her braids swished around her cheeks, the beads at the end clacking gently—as if to shake off the confusion. “So the keeper does that, and the seeker goes after the golden snitch.”

“The snitch is the most important part of the game,” Alicia chipped in, “because usually the team that catches it wins.”

“How come?” 

“Because.” All three girls jumped, looking around to find the twins—crooked grins plastered across their faces, of course, like they hadn't just gotten in trouble within the first two hours of a new term—and Lee Jordan standing in the doorway. “The snitch is worth a hundred and fifty points. Were you waiting for us, ladies? Allow us to escort you to the greenhouses.” Ever rolled her eyes and ignored the hand Fred or George so valiantly offered—Lee had offered his hand to Angelina, and the other twin to Alicia—pushing herself to her feet and grabbing her bag. 

“Percy really is going to write your mum now. You know that, don't you?” 

At that, the grin disappeared from their faces.

Charlie—who had the whole morning off and an afternoon after lunch packed with classes, which, he explained to Ever, was exactly as he liked it because it meant he could have a bit of a lie in—met them outside of the greenhouses when class was over. 

“I was down at Hagrid's hut,” he said, turning his wand over in his hands. “He and Professor Kettleburn were prepping flobberworms for the third years.”

“Who are they?” Ever asked, walking quickly to match his pace. Fred, George, and Lee trailed along behind them, not interested in flobberworms—whatever they were—or Hagrid or Kettleburn.

“Kettleburn's the Care of Magical Creatures professor. Weird bloke, he's only got one arm and half a leg left, but—“

“How did that happen?” Ever wasn't sure she wanted to know, but couldn't help asking. 

“Dunno. Depends on the day of the week you ask him.” Charlie grinned at her horrified expression. “But he's alright, just a bit...reckless, you could say. Hagrid's the groundskeeper. He's the big guy that helped you guys onto the boats yesterday.” 

They made their way through the Entrance Hall and into the Great Hall, where students were already settled digging into their lunch. As the five of them found seats and settled in, Charlie fixed his eyes on his younger brothers.

“Now, Perce doesn't know yet and I intend to keep it that way, unless McGonagall writes to Mum herself.”

“How'd you know about it?” Fred—she thought it was Fred, he usually spoke first—demanded, his ears slowly darkening to an alarming shade of red. Charlie tapped the prefect badge on his chest.

“I'm your house's oldest prefect and your older brother. McGonagall figured she ought to pass the information on. Just...please don't cause anymore trouble this week. I don't think Mum would be too pleased if she got an owl from your head of house this early in the year.”

“Right,” the twins muttered in unison, stuffing their mouths full with bites of ham sandwiches. No more was said on the matter, and after an unnervingly quiet lunch—Ever was used to at least _some_ noise around the red heads—they were off to Defense Against The Dark Arts.

“Seventh floor, turn left off the staircase, second door on your left,” Charlie instructed. “I'd take you, but I have to get to Charms.”

“We have that next,” Ever began, smiling apologetically.

“Second floor, left off the staircase, sixth door on the right.” He waved off her thanks and headed up the staircase as she slung her bag over her shoulder.

“So what do you reckon the new Defense teacher is going to be like?” Lee asked as they followed the older Weasley up the steps.

“I dunno. I've never had a different one.”

“That's right, you dunno about the curse!” said the twin nearest her. She stopped in her tracks, staring at him. It took a moment for the boy to stop and look back at her.

“Curse?” she asked.

“Yeah, every year the Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher leaves at the end of term.” Ever swallowed and forced herself to catch up to them.

“How come?”

“Dunno, but Charlie and Bill have had new teachers every year. Dunno why we'd be any different.” For the next five minutes, as they made their way up the next six flights of stairs, nobody spoke. The seventh floor, left turn, second door on the left came far too quickly for Ever's liking. Whether the curse was on the class, the teacher himself, or the position, she felt a trifle uneasy about going through the door. Fred and George didn't seem to feel any qualms about it; they pushed straight through into the room. She bit down on her lip—hard enough to draw blood—and commanded herself to snap out of it. This was a class, and she was going to go in and do well and be a good witch and make her mum proud of her.

That was all the motivation she needed to get her legs moving. Within moments she was seated, for the third time that day, just in front of the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan, watching the door to the adjoining office and waiting for it to swing open. Angelina sat on her left and Alicia joined her on the right, and for a few long minutes there was silence before the office door opened with a very loud creak. 

“Sorry I'm late, I fell asleep over lunch and my alarm clock doesn't exactly work here in good ol' Hoggy Warty Hogwarts. I'm Professor Black.”


	5. Chapter 5

Maybe it was because Ever wasn't used to the magical community quite yet, but somehow it seemed very wrong to have a professor that had white hair when he didn't appear to be older than twenty-five, at the most. Professor Black's hair was long, flung over his shoulder in a messy braid, and behind red-rimmed glasses his eyes were the brightest blue she'd ever seen. 

“Now,” said the professor, flopping into his seat and kicking his feet up onto his desk. “I've never been a fan of books, or of studying, and this is the first day so classes are meant to be relatively simple.” Professor Black seemed restless; he fidgeted with his wand, couldn't stop looking around the room, and picked lint off of his robes as he spoke. 

“So I guess a useful spell would be better for you guys,” he mused, more to himself than the rest of the class. “And that's not too difficult, not really...right!” Professor Black clapped his hands together and jumped to his feet, putting his wand behind his ear. “Alright, first half of class will be theory, second half will be practical. You will need the theory to practice.” At this, he looked at Fred, George, and Lee, a little smile playing across his lips; apparently Professor McGonagall had already sent warning.

“So this spell's name is _Lumos,_ ” the professor began, flicking his wand at the chalkboard. A piece of chalk picked itself up and began scribbling across it in a strangely pretty scrawl. Ever watched it for a moment before picking up her quil, wondering if the handwriting would've been different if Professor McGonagall had written by magic instead of by hand. For the next half hour, the first years took notes—or pretended to, in the case of Lee and the twins—and Ever found herself growing nervous. She'd read about the _lumos_ spell a bit, in her _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_ , but...well, this would be the first spell that she would be casting consciously, wouldn't it? She'd been too scared to pick up her wand after she'd gotten it from Ollivander's, too scared to try it out for herself, but she'd seen little bits of magic since she'd been here, and they hadn't looked too hard...but what if she messed up? What if she wasn't as good as the other first years? She copied the notes mechanically, but none of them really made an impression, and far too soon the professor was calling the class to attention. 

“Right then,” he said, sliding his wand behind his ear. “I guess you lot should get into pairs, then. You can choose your own, but make sure you get work done.” Again, he eyed the Gryffindor boys. Ever hopped to her feet and turned around to see the twins pairing up—of course—and Lee looking a bit lost. 

“Well,” she said, biting down on her thumbnail, “we could work together, if you like. I'll probably be useless, really.” 

“No you won't,” said Lee easily, moving around the desk to sit beside her; Angelina and Alicia had moved to the other side of the desk. “It's a simple spell, really. Seen my mum and dad do it a million times.” 

“Right.” She turned her eyes to Professor Black. He was scanning the room, but when his eyes fell on her, he smiled. She managed a quick smile in return, but couldn't meet his gaze. “Right,” Ever repeated, turning back to Lee and raising her wand. It felt both foreign and right in her hand, and she still wasn't quite sure how she felt about that, but she raised the stick—because some part of her was still convinced that that was all her wand was, just a twig cut from a tree that someone had wittled into something gorgeous but impractical—and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. 

“You can do this,” said Lee, and when she opened her eyes, he was smiling at her so encouragingly that she believed it. She glanced at her parchment, scanned the notes she didn't remember writing, and brushed her hair out of her face.

 _Visualize the light at the end of your wand. Give it a light flick, picture how bright you'd like the light to be, and say the encantation._ There was more to it than that—history of the charm, when it was invented, why it was invented, who had popularized it—but that wasn't important for casting the spell. Spell. _Mum,_ she began a quick note mentally, _I'm really going to do this._

“Lumos,” she whispered. 

For the half second between whispering the word and the tip of her wand lighting up, she thought it hadn't worked. Then the wand did, beautifully, and the light flickered like the candle flame she'd been envisioning, and she almost screamed, she was so happy. She looked at Lee, and she knew that the grin on her face was huge and matched only by the absolute disbelief, but she didn't care, because she, Ever Moore, really was a witch, and this wasn't all a mistake, and _she had done magic_! Apparently she looked pretty funny, because Lee's laughter filled the room. She felt her face heating up when Fred and George looked around and immediately whooped loudly for her small victory, but when she glanced at Professor Black, he was smiling right back at her. 

It wasn't long before everyone had lit their wands and the students were filing back into their seats. Professor Black leaned against his desk, his arms folded over his chest, and slowly touched eyes with each student in the classroom.

“I'm sure those of you that have read up on this little charm are wondering why Professor Flitwick didn't teach you this,” he said, and paused for a moment. Ever got the impression that the pause was more for dramatic effect than anything else, but she liked the professor and the effect immensely; it was fitting of someone teaching a subject with such a foreboding name and a curse on the position. “Most of you will know about the war, and may remember bits of it yourself. In times of darkness...well,” sighed the professor, shaking his head, and when he looked back at them his easy smile was back in place. “Now that's passed. The point is, this lesson was a bit more symbolic than practical for this particular subject. A very wise man once told me that happiness can be found in the darkest of times, if one can remember to turn on the light.” Professor Black glanced at his watch. “It's a bit early, but you all can go ahead. Practice that spell, it will be on the first exam.” There was a chorus of “yes sir”s, and the professor waved his hand. Darkness fell in the classroom. A Ravenclaw girl uttered a little squeak, and a few wands—Ever's included—lit the way as they made their way to Charms.


	6. Chapter 6

After a relatively calm Charms class—in which Fred, George, and Lee managed to cause a major disturbance only once in the form of practicing the _lumos_ spell all at once and nearly blinding the students and Professor Flitwick, and, amazingly, got off with only a warning—the four of them made their way down to the Great Hall for dinner, and for the first ten minutes after she'd finished eating, while the boys were engrossed with conversation with Bill and Charlie, Ever found herself staring at the twins.

She'd only known them a day, and they were so identical that even thier family couldn't tell them apart...but it bothered her that she couldn't. They may look alike and act alike but they were completely different people...weren't they? Maybe their mother had performed some sort of spell when they were born and accidentally split her one baby into two. Ever didn't know if that was even possible, but she was going to consider it highly likely unless she could find proof otherwise. Everything about the boys, from the pattern of the freckles all across their nose and cheeks to their voices were exactly the same, and she was finding it hopeless to notice any difference...until she noticed the scar.

It was a tiny thing, really. One of the twins—he had assured her as they sat down that he was George, and she was inclined to believe him—had a very small scar on the back of his right hand. It was old and faded, but the little line on the knuckle of his middle finger was definitely there, and when she checked on Fred's hand, it definitely wasn't. It wasn't a foolproof method; there were definitely going to be times when Ever wouldn't be able to grab George's hand to check if the scar was there. Still, it was good enough for now, and she rejoiced in her little victory, wondering how the scar had gotten there. She didn't dare ask, because if George knew she'd noticed it, she suspected he would try to find ways to cover it up. 

Before long, they were getting up and going to the common room, where the four of them shouted “bouncing bulbs” in unison—because it was fun to say, Fred explained, and they should together at every opportunity—and Ever excused herself to the dormitories to drop off her books. Angelina and Alicia weren't there yet, and she grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a tank top and slipped into the bathroom to shower. She made quick work of it—she wanted to get back to the boys and talk about everything that had happened today, and especially about the detention, she'd never gotten to ask about that—and it was only when she was standing in front of the sink, rinsing out her mouth after brusing her teeth, that she glanced up at the mirror. The first year was almost shocked to find that she looked exactly the same as she had before she'd boarded the train yesterday.

Sure, her hair was wet and darker from the water, but it was still the same brown hair that she'd always brushed through, that she picked up her brush to run through it then. The eyes in the glass were the exact same shade of green that they'd been yesterday, the day before, last week. Ever still had a button nose and a heart-shaped face and a little scar above her right eyebrow where she'd gotten two stitches after falling and hitting the edge of the coffee table when she was three years old. Her eyes wandered down to her body, sure it must have changed if her face hadn't, but no, the thin frame was still there, the just-beginning-to-develop breasts that she'd blushed furiously over just two months ago when her mum announced she'd be needing bras the next time they ran to the shop, the freckles on her shoulders...everything was exactly the same. Ever put her brush back on the counter and leaned forward, inspecting herself more closely, and out of nowhere her breath hitched and tears burned her eyes.

A month ago she'd been a regular eleven year old on holiday from school, and now she was in this huge castle with tons of people and she didn't even know where exactly Hogwarts was. She'd heard someone say it was in Scotland, and that was a long way from Cardiff, and her dad hadn't wanted to bring her to London to get here and, and—maybe she should have listened to him. 

_How do you even go about sending a letter home here?_

Ever shoved the thought away. That was for another time, and she'd told the boys she'd be back down after she dropped of her things and cleaned up. They'd be waiting for her, wondering where she went, and she had no doubt that the three of them would come bursting in on her if she took too long for her liking. The girl slid on a pair of slippers and padded out of the dormitory just in time for the stairs to turn into a giant slide. Her scream died in her throat and quickly became laughter as she saw the three of them piled at the bottom of the staircase in a tangle of arms and legs.

“What happened?”

“We—we tried to get up the stairs!” Lee spluttered as he finally extracted himself from the twins; the red heads were having a bit more trouble getting free of each other. “They turned into this—this slide thing!” Behind them, someone laughed, and Fred and George groaned as they pulled themselves apart. Bill came siddling up, looking a bit smug. 

“Tried to get into the girls' rooms, did you?” 

“We didn't know that would happen!” said Fred—wait—yes, Fred, he didn't have the scar.

“What was that all about?” George demanded.

“Well, you see boys,” said Bill, offering a hand to each twin. They grudgingly accepted his help and pulled themselves to their feet. “The founders decided when they made dormitories like this that they had to find a fail safe to keep the older boys from sneaking into the girls' dormitories.” As the head boy steered the four of them toward the fireplace, Ever found herself quite pink in the face, and the twins looked a bit red around the ears. Lee was grinning widely. “So whenever a boy steps up onto the staircase, they're given two or three steps to get off, depending on how fast they're going, and then _swish!_ It's a fall for them and a slide for any nice young lady waiting at the top of it.”

“And um...would that happen if a girl went into the boys' dormitories?” Ever asked tentatively, settling herself onto one of the overstuffed armchairs. Bill's grin—and it was the same crooked smile that all the brothers seemed to share—was answer enough, but he flopped down on the arm of her chair and continued.

“No, that's the beauty of it. The founders decided that girls were more trustworthy—or, you know, cowardly, take your pick—and they didn't put the same enchantment on the other staircases. Now,” he said, looking quite entertained with this little lecture, “I don't know if it's the same for all the dormitories, the sliding thing, but I know they do have the same basic idea. So boys, don't try it if you manage to sneak into the other common rooms either.” 

“We aren't that thick,” Fred muttered. Bill ruffled his hair before heading back to his study group across the room. The younger boy scowled and smoothed his hair down, but when he caught his twin's eye, he didn't seem to be able to help the snicker that escaped. Soon the four of them were laughing, and they transitioned into lighter subjects...like detention. It was to be served the next night, as it was Friday, and they were going to be writing lines in Mr. Filch's office.

“And we've heard things about him,” said Fred.

“He'll be great fun to mess with,” George added.

“You'll get another detention before your first one is done with!” 

“So what?” the three of them chorused, and grinned at each other. For a moment, Ever felt left out—because she wasn't going to be with them and because she was the only one who was still in completely over her head—but she brushed the thought off quickly. _It doesn't matter. It doesn't. They don't care that you're muggle-born, or that you got excited over a stupidly simple wand-lighting charm, or that you don't get in trouble. They just like you._

 _It really doesn't matter,_ she thought as she made her way up to the dormitories and said a sleepy good night to Angelina and Alicia. _They wouldn't keep talking to me if it did._

 _Maybe they would,_ a little voice in the back of her head protested. That was all it took to keep her awake wondering into the wee hours of morning, when she finally dozed off.


	7. Chapter 7

“Ever. Oi! Ever!” 

On top of a sleepless night, it had been an extremely long day. Their first potions lesson—with the teacher from the front table in the Great Hall with the greasey hair, Professor Snape—hadn't exactly gone well, as it was a double class and with the Slytherins. It put most of the Gryffindors on edge, and most of the Slytherins and sneered at her throughout the classroom because someone had whispered, already, that she was muggle-born. She'd done her best to ignore them, but had practically ran from the dungeons on the way to lunch, where she hadn't eaten much. Then there was History Of Magic, and could there _be_ a more boring subject? It was all any of the first-years could do to keep their heads up off of their desks, but Professor Binns didn't seem to notice. Afterwards, the six Gryffindors hauled themselves into the tower for a rundown on Astronomy, ending early with a promise to meet at midnight the next Friday. They trudged back down to dinner and stared at the gloomy sky on the ceiling, and there they had separated; the girls had gone up to the dormitories while the boys had lounged in the common room, waiting for their detention to begin. Ever had quickly washed up and fallen into bed, exhausted...until someone began poking at her and calling her name. 

“Come on, Ever, wake up!” She finally groaned and turned over, peeking blearily out from under her covers at the boy—wait. The boy? She sat straight up, keeping the covers up to her shoulders.

“How did you get up here?” she hissed, with a glance at the drawn drapes around Angelina and Alicia's beds. The twin—a quick glance at his hand told her nothing, it was much to dark to make out a scar if it was there—grinned and pointed to the doorway. She sighed and tossed the covers back, resigned to yet another night of disturbed sleep, and shivered when her feet hit the floor. Her bathrobe was at the end of the bed, and she grabbed it, slinging it around her shoulders.

“I promise I'll explain everything as soon as we get to the common room,” the red head whispered, and led the way out into the hall. The moment he stepped foot on the staircase, it became a slide again—whatever he'd done the first time, he wasn't bothering with anymore—and the two of them slid down side by side. The common room was nearly deserted but for the other twin and Lee Jordan, who was rubbing his eyes but looking excited nonetheless.

“What if the staircase doesn't change back before I need to go back upstairs?” Ever whispered. She wasn't exactly sure _why_ she was whispering, but in a late-night meeting with three boys she barely knew, it felt appropriate.

“It will, it did the moment I got into your room,” said Fred—now that they were in the firelight, she could clearly see there wasn't a scar on his hand—as he took a piece of parchment from his pocket. “You've got to see this, it's brilliant.” He handed it to her, and she examined it, confused. 

“So what? It's a spare bit of parchment.”

“Yeah, but look what happens when you tap it!” said George, and demonstrated with his wand. Immediately, ink seemed to bleed out of the parchment, and formed a single word.

_You jokingly_

“You...” Ever read, more confused than ever. “Alright then...so...what does it do?” 

“We think it's a riddle,” said Lee, “because that's not all it says. But we need four people to get the last bit of it.” He tapped the map, and it bled out a few more words. 

_deny that you're_

Fred tapped the parchment.

_down to_

They were all looking at the first year girl. She sighed and drew her wand out of the pocket of her pajama pants, tapping the parchment. 

_some evil._

“You jokingly deny that you're down to some evil,” she read aloud, sliding her wand behind her ear. “That makes no sense.”

“It does if you look at it as a puzzle. There are four different handwritings on the parchment, took four different people to get the whole message,” Lee explained, chewing on his thumbnail. “But I don't get it. Those are really random words to string together.”

The four of them sat in relative silence for more than half an hour. Every now and again, someone would pipe up with an idea, and they would quickly try it to no avail. Just as the minute hand on the nearst clock—the one over the mantle—clicked past the twelve for the thirty-seventh time, Fred looked up.

“What if it's opposites?” 

“What?” George began slowly, blinking down at the parchment. “Like the opposites of the words?”

“Yes!” said Fred, pointing his wand at the map. “You becomes I. Jokingly—“

“Seriously?” Lee asked.

“Solemnly,” Ever suggested. Fred nodded to her, his crooked grin breaking out on his face.

“I like that one better, we'll go with solemnly. Deny...”

“It could be confirm...?” It was more a question than a confident answer, and Ever felt a bit dumb even suggesting it. George shook his head, brow furrowed.

“I think it's meant to be like...promise.”

“Swear,” said Lee. George nodded, and Fred repeated it.

“I solemnly swear...I think 'that' and 'to' are the same. There aren't really any opposites to those.” The remaining three Gryffindors agreed with quiet nods. “I solemnly swear that...you're...so I'm...”

“Down is up,” said Ever.

“To is the same,” George murmured.

“Some...I think that's no,” said Lee, pushing his hair back out of his face as he leaned forward to look at the parchment. “And 'evil'...”

“Good,” the four of them chorused. They looked at the parchment, but nothing had happened.

“S'alright,” said Fred easily, “we've just got to string it all together.” He held out his hand to George, and his twin took it, offering his hand to Ever. Ever grabbed hold of Lee's, and Lee closed their little circle, taking Fred's free hand. “On the count of three, yeah?” They nodded solemnly, eyes fixed on the scrap in front of them. “One...two...three!” 

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” they whispered. For a moment, nothing happened; the words already on the parchment didn't go away, and nothing new appeared. Ever bit down on her lip, trying to decide whether or not she was disappointed—this was probably some older student's idea of a joke, that was all, and it was still interesting at any rate, even if she had been woken up for it—when the words seemed to be wiped clean. New ones began in their place, each line in a new handwriting, as before.

_If you've stumbled onto this, it's been taken away from us._

_Or we've forgotten it._

_Or we've passed it on to you._

_Or we're just gits and something else has happened to us._

_In any event,_ the piece of parchment continued, and it was in the same handwriting—neat, compsed, more careful than the other three—as the first line. _If you've gotten this far, then you're worthy to have it, we suppose. May it help you as much as it did us._

And then, at the bottom, in the four distinctive handwritings:

_Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs._

The ink exploded outward across the page, and suddenly it was forming corridors, compartments, staircases, all perfectly in line. 

“It's a map of the whole school,” Fred murmured, his eyes scanning over it quickly.

“It's not just that!” Ever exclaimed, pointing to one corridor. There was a small dot there, and it was _moving,_ and the label beside it clearly stated “Severus Snape”. The four of them marvelled over it for a moment, searching for Gryffindor tower and themselves, and finally found their respective dots, crowded into the common room...and, coming down the stairs, the dot of Bill Weasley. George quickly swiped up the map and stuffed it in his pocket, just as their oldest brother walked into the room, blearily rubbing at his eyes.

“Boys...Ever...what are you doing up? It's past two.”

“Just talking,” said Lee with a shrug. 

“Yeah,” George piped up. “Ever couldn't sleep and we've just gotten back from detention, so...” He trailed off, and Bill gave the four of them one long look before apparently deciding he was too tired to deal with any of it. 

“To bed. Now.” 

“Alright,” the twins chorused easily, while Ever and Lee quickly nodded. Bill seemed satisfied, turning to climb the stairs again. 

“Right,” whispered Fred, glancing back over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't coming back. “Tomorrow at lunchtime we go figure out what some of these passages are.” He pointed out a few of them, and the other first years nodded their agreement quickly, heading toward the stairs.

About halfway up, Ever turned to look back at them.

“Fred!” she hissed. He turned around, heading backwards up the stairs. “Tomorrow you tell me how you got into my dormitory in the first place!” The red head grinned, but turned around and said no more.


	8. Chapter 8

“Ever! The twins are yelling for you from downstairs!” 

Ever groaned and rolled over, hugging her pillow to her chest. It was only about seven, and it was _Saturday_ , and this was the second time in seven hours that the twins had woken her up, though not in the same way, and she didn't want to get up. The door to the dormitory closed, and for a few minutes—she didn't know how long—she snuggled back down into her blankets and forgot about the twins and everything else...until the door banged open again.

“Ever,” said Angelina slowly, “the twins—he says he's Fred but I don't know if that's true—he says if you don't come downstairs in the next five minutes he'll never tell you what you wanted to know. What does that mean?” Ever sighed and resigned herself to getting up early, throwing back her comforter and swinging her feet around to the _freezing_ stone floor. 

“He's just being stupid,” she mumbled as she forced herself out of bed and grabbed a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt—she liked it because it had worn holes where she'd pulled it down over her hands and now her thumbs fit through perfectly—and ran into the bathroom to slip them on. When she came back into the dormitory, Angelina was gone, but she'd left the door open and she could hear the twins counting down in unison downstairs. She sighed; they were only down to a hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight...but she grabbed a pair of socks and slipped them on, pulling her trainers quickly over them. By the time the twins had gotten down to fifty—with Lee Jordan joining them for the final stretch—she was out the door and down the stairs, folding her arms over her chest as she arrived in front of the three of them just in time for the them to stumble over thirty-nine. 

“Was that really necessary?” 

“Yes,” Fred and George chorused, each of them grabbing one of her hands and dragging her through the portrait hole. 

“You see,” said the twin on her right—a quick glance confirmed that it was George—with his trademark crooked grin. “We have information you want.”

“And you promised to come with us to get the information _we_ want,” said Fred.

“You also said that it was going to happen at _lunch time_ ,” Ever grumbled, but she found she couldn't really be cranky with the boys now that she was up; she was just as curious about all the secret passages in the castle. 

“Yes, well, they got a bit impatient,” said Lee, munching on a candy bar loudly behind them. “They woke me up an hour ago throwing pillows at me, and then waited another thirty minutes for Angelina or Alicia to come down so they could go up and get you.”

“You could've come to get me yourself,” the girl pointed out, looking at Fred. He shook his head.

“No we couldn't have, because then Johnson or Spinnet might have gone to McGonagall and told her that we could get into the girls' dormitories.”

“We've already got one detention under our belt, and that was dead boring, aside from this.” George waved the map—now blank—in front of her face. She blinked at it, sliding her hand from George's to grab the slip of parchment and look at it more clearly.

“How'd you get the map to go away?” 

“That's the best part!” Lee exclaimed, finishing up his candy bar with a final loud crunch. “When we went up to the dormitories, Fred was mumbling about it, saying that it had been clean before, there had to be a way to clean it again so people couldn't find it.”

“So we poked and prodded at it a bit,” said George, taking the map back from her. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” he muttered, pointing his wand at it. The lines and dots that showed everyone in the castle quickly filled in, and the red-head grinned. “I don't think I'll ever get tired of that.”

“So we ended up just asking the map, 'cause we figured if there was a way to do it, there was a way to undo it,” said Fred, plucking the map out of his twin's hand. “And the Marauder's came through, 'cause the minute we asked—“ 

“There was writing on the back of it,” Lee piped up. “Those two didn't notice it at first because they were staring at the front of it, and you should've seen their faces, it was like they were using all their brain cells put together trying to figure out this puzzle—“ 

“Oi, we've got more than you have!” said George.

“—but there it was, and this time it wasn't a riddle, it just said 'mischief managed' in that really neat handwriting from before.” 

“So you just...” Thoughtfully, Ever pulled her wand out of her back pocket and tapped the map. “Mischief managed.” As quickly as the lines had filled out, they drained away from the parchment, seeming to seep into it. She grinned. “That's cool.” 

It only took ten minutes to get to the third floor, where the first passageway that appeared to lead out of the castle was appeared on the map, but it was a long ten minutes. The four of them were so excited they barely knew what to do with themselves, and they made a bit too much noise on the way, but paid no mind to it. When they finally did reach where the passage was marked—a statue of a one-eyed witch with a hump on her back—Ever studied it curiously.

“Who is she?” 

“Dunno,” said Fred absently, looking at the map. “Doesn't say anything on here about how to get in though...” 

“Maybe we have to—“

“Weasleys, Jordan, Moore.” The three of them jumped at Professor McGonagall's sharp voice, ringing down the hallway. Fred was the first to whirl around, smoothly sliding the map into his back pocket, and the others slowly followed suit. “What are you four doing around this corridor? It's a nice day, you should be making the most of it.” 

“We were just exploring the castle, Professor,” Ever said quickly, and, to her immense surprise, the professor softened up a bit. 

“I know it can be a bit overwhelming at first, coming into a place so large, even for pure-blood children.” Ever nodded enthusiastically, with the Weasleys and Lee joining in a moment too late. 

“Could you tell us who this witch is?” the girl asked, jerking her thumb back over her shoulder. “We were wondering about it when you walked up, you see, and none of the boys know...”

“Gunhilda of Gorsemoor. She discovered a cure for dragon pox,” McGonagall explained, looking closely at each of them. “You all may want to get back to your common rooms just now. It would be best to wait until you're more acquainted with the passages you're meant to be traveling before you wander off on your own.”

“Yes, Professor,” the Gryffindors murmured in unison, and immediately set off in the direction of the common room. Ever shot back a little wave over her shoulder.

“Where'd you learn to lie like that?” Fred muttered under his breath. She shrugged.

“It wasn't exactly a lie.” They made short work of the walk on the way back, and as they were climbed back through the portrait hole, Ever turned on Fred. “How'd you get up the stairs?”

“Sticking Charm,” he said airily, pointing at his hands. “It turned into a slide, I just climbed up it.”

“Like Spiderman?” At the confused look he shot her, she sighed and shook her head. “Never mind. I'm going back up for a nap.”

With a little wave, and promises to meet for lunch—actual lunch, and not the Weasleys waking her up when they got impatient for her company—that's exactly what she did. 


	9. Chapter 9

Weeks flew by, and with the Weasley twins no closer to getting answers about the hump-backed witch statue, the four of them settled into an easy pattern. Monday through Friday Ever, Lee, Fred, and George went to classes—with the three boys getting reprimanded at least once a day, and more often during nearly every lecture—and ate lunch and dinner together before heading up to the common room to do their homework. The boys, Ever soon discovered, were exceedingly bright and made extremely high marks; they just happened to have the attention span of a goldfish. Weekends were spent exploring the castle, following the map, looking for more secret passages—all of which had passwords, much to the twins' chargrin—and talking over what they'd found out that night in the common room and four armchairs directly in front of the fire. The rest of September flew by in a blur, and most of October followed much the same...until the night before Halloween.

“So what do wizards even _do_ on Halloween?” Ever asked, throwing her quill down beside her roll of parchment as she finished up an essay for Charms. 

“What do you mean?” Fred—he'd been done with his essay long before now, though she suspected it was due to his comparitavely huge handwriting quickly covering the six inches of parchment they'd been assigned—asked from his position on the overstuffed armchair across from her, popping a piece of candy into his mouth. 

“I mean, what kind of traditions do you guys have? Don't you do...anything for it?” 

“Not really.” George shrugged, scratching his nose. “I mean, people have parties and things like that, but mostly they just sit around and honor dead ancestors.”

“Light candles and stuff like that,” Fred agreed, nodding as he unwrapped another sweet.

“Why?” Lee mumbled, distracted; he had yet to finish his essay, though the parchment was almost full now. “What do muggles do?” 

“Well...” Ever fiddled with her quill for a moment, wondering if they'd laugh. “The adults have parties too, but the kids go out trick or treating.”

“We've seen kids do that at home!” George exclaimed, looking up at her. “They're always in funny clothes—“

“Yeah, and Mum would never let us ask why!” said Fred, looking equally excited. Ever could barely believe they'd even heard of muggle traditions, and wondered briefly why they hadn't snuck out to get a closer look—they certainly did it enough around the castle, now that they had the map to know exactly which professor and prefect they were running away from on any given night—but brushed the thought away.

“Well, they dress up and they go up to people's doors,” she explained slowly, trying to pick her words carefully. “And they ring the bell, or knock, or whatever, and when people open the door they yell 'trick or treat' and they get candy.” 

“So...” Lee began slowly, sticking his quill behind one ear—his wand was behind the other—and turning to stare at her as he rolled up his parchment, “these kids get all dressed up in their Sunday best—“

“No!” the girl laughed, shaking her head. The boys blinked at her, confused, and she grinned; finally, she could teach _them_ something that seemed obvious to _her_. “They dress up in costumes, like...brides, and fairies, and mermaids—“

“Why would _anyone_ dress up as a mermaid?” Fred asked, eyes nearly the size of dinner plates. “They're green and ugly and they've got webbed fingers and—“

“They are?” All three boys nodded, bewildered. _Well,_ Ever thought, _so much for teaching them something._ “Well, muggle mermaids are pretty, with really long hair and tails and tiaras and things like that. Anyway,” she pressed on when the boys exchanged looks of disgusted disbelief, “they put on costumes that are pretty and scary and they get candy and try to scare each other.”

“Why would they do that?” George asked, thoroughly engrossed now that the girl had gotten started with her tale. 

“I don't know,” she admitted, shrugging as she drew her wand from behind her ear and twirled it between her hands. “It's just been like that for as long as I can rememeber. Now you've got to be careful though, 'cause there are mean people who go about putting razor blades into apples and dropping them into kids' bags—“

“Why would anyone do that?” Lee demanded, sitting straight up in his chair. Ever shrugged helplessly, staring at the fire crackling merrily in the fireplace to her right. 

“I dunno that either. Some people just do. My dad said there are men and women out there who just like to see other people hurt.” 

“That's mad!” Fred shouted, slamming his fist down on the table; some fifth years a few tables away looked at him tiredly before returning to their own homework. “Somebody should do something about it! Don't you muggles have those things, like aurors, those poh-leese men—“

“Oi, what do you mean 'you muggles'?” Ever demanded, her temper flaring despite herself. Fred hadn't meant that, he couldn't have, not after the past two months sitting in class with her and watching her do magic as well as anyone, and _better_ than some of them, but...she couldn't get the words out of her head. “You muggles”; what did that make her? Fred seemed to realize his mistake, and the anger rapidly flooded out of him. He drew his hands back into his lap, swallowing hard. 

“Ever, I...I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I mean, you're a bloody good witch and I didn't—“ The witch held up her hand, shaking her head and taking a deep breath. 

“I—I know you didn't mean it like that. I overreacted. Just...” She bit down hard on her lip and shook her head. “Forget about it.” She swallowed hard, looking down at her wand—she was holding it a bit too tightly now, and made herself relax her grip—before glancing back up at the red-head, forcing a smile and a lighter tone. “Yeah, we have police men, but they can't exactly going around checking every bag of every child. There are loads of them out on Halloween.”

“So...” George began, obviously not sure quite how to break the tension. “What do they do, then? To make sure that doesn't happen to other kids?” 

“Well...now the kids just don't eat anything that's unwrapped.” Ever shrugged, sliding her wand back behind her ear and nibbling at her thumbnail. “If it's store bought and hasn't been unwrapped, there's no way that it can be tampered with, so parents don't have to worry about it. Mostly when they get back to their houses parents help littler kids go through their candy and throw away everything that isn't unwrapped.”

“Why don't they just cut open the apples and things and make sure there's nothing in it?” Lee asked, scratching his nose and leaving a smear of ink from his quill there. The witch bit her lip to keep from giggling and shrugged again. 

“Dunno. Most kids don't like fruit for Halloween treats anyway. I mean, would you? The night is all about candy.” 

“S'pose not,” Fred mumbled, and when she glanced at him he was staring down at his completed Charms essay. Ever sighed and leaned across the table, putting her hand over his. 

“Fred.” He looked up at her, meeting her eye, and she blinked at his serious expression. She'd never seen him look anything less than thrilled to be wherever he was, but he looked like he would rather be anywhere but in front of her. “It's really okay. You didn't mean to do it, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he sighed, nodding, and the tension seemed to flow out of the group when he finally cracked a smile. Ever leaned back in her chair again, pulling her feet up underneath her, and sighed as she looked down at the books in front of her.

“Reckon we better get started on Defense.” The boys groaned, and she couldn't say she didn't feel the same way—she liked Professor Black a ton, but he wasn't at all lenient about homework—and picked up her quill again, cutting away a new sheet of parchment. 

“Right then,” Lee muttered, drawing his quill out from behind his ear and setting it to his parchment. “The properties of the bat-bogey hex...” 


	10. Chapter 10

Halloween—a relatively quiet Monday night at the castle—came and went, and Ever found herself missing home a bit as she lay in bed that night. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table—Charlie had explained, when she'd asked, that it was a clock that ran on magic somehow, but that was all he knew—and, seeing that it was only just after nine, she jumped up and went down to the common room to find the boys. They sat in their usual spot in front of the fire, munching on...leftover pumpkin pasties? 

“How'd you guys get those?” she asked, flopping unceremoniously into her usual chair and taking in the assortment of sweets the three of them had assembled on the table in front of them. Some things—Bertie Bott's Every Flavoured Beans and chocolate frogs—she had seen on the train, but hadn't touched; she had no name for others. Grabbing a chocolate frog, she snapped the package open, only to jump back when the little frog hopped from his platform and straight into the fire. 

“Oh my God!” she exclaimed, staring at the place on the wood where the chocolate was quickly melting away while the boys roared with laughter. Ever glared at the three of them, folding her arms tightly over her chest. “You lot could've told me it was going to _move_!”

“You didn't ask,” the twins said in unison. She growled, flicking her eyes back and forth between both of theirs...and that's when she noticed another difference about the twins. She glanced down at their hands; George was on the right. Both the boys had brown eyes, she'd always known that, but Fred's were a few shades darker when they were in the exact same light. It wouldn't have been noticeable to anyone who wasn't looking very closely, but as close as she'd gotten to the boys over the past two months...

“What?” Fred asked, and when she dragged her gaze away from their hands to look at him he had his eyebrows raised. 

“Nothing,” Ever sighed, shaking her head. “Just...I suppose I should know that things I'm not expecting to move are going to by now.” 

“Well, look at the card,” said Lee, tearing into another pastie. “I've been looking for Andros the Invincible. You'd think for a guy that was s'posed to have a patronus the size of a giant his _card_ would be easy enough to find, but it's super rare...” Ever wasn't really listening at this point; her attention was directed at the little card at the bottom of the package on the floor. She must have dropped it, she realized as she leaned over to pluck the card out of it. It was shaped like a pentagon, and on the front was a thin, pale woman who looked a bit like Maleficent, with piercing blue eyes and a raven perched on her shoulder. The first-year blinked, turning the card over. 

“Ignatia Wildsmith,” she read aloud, not entirely sure she was pronouncing her first name right; she said it “ig-nay-shuh”, and the boys didn't correct her, so she went on. “Inventor of floo powder. Whatever that is.” 

“It's this green powder,” said Fred, and she started, looking up at him, “and you throw it in your fireplace and you say where you want to go. If there's a floo connection it'll take you there. Like...say you wanted to go to Diagon Alley from our house.”

“All you'd have to do,” continued George as if his twin had never left off, “is grab a handful of it and throw it in the fire, and say 'Diagon Alley' really clearly, and it would take you to the Leakey Cauldron.” 

“Oh...well, I guess I'll start collecting them too,” Ever murmured, flipping the card back over in her hand. The witch was gone, but she'd grown used to people in portraits moving around by now, and it didn't really surprise her. She sighed and slid the card into the pocket of her sweatpants. “How'd you get this food down here?” The boys grinned at her, leaning forward, and she leaned in with them.

“We found the kitchens,” Fred confided, handing her another chocolate frog. She ripped the package open and grabbed the frog, popping it into her mouth before it could squirm away. “You go down to the basement and there's a corridor, and you go down and there's this big painting of a bowl of fruit.”

“Yeah,” George murmured, leaning in closer to make sure they weren't overheard. “You tickle the pear in the bowl and it opens up, and the place is full of house elves working.” 

“What are house elves?” Ever asked, propping her chin up in her hand. The boys, now that their secrets were told, leaned back and propped their feet up on the table in front of them. 

“They're these little creatures, not even three feet tall,” Lee explained, throwing an Every Flavoured Bean in his mouth and wincing at the taste. Fred and George exchanged identical smirks as their friend spat it into a spare bit of parchment and threw it into the fire. 

“What was it?” 

“Ear wax,” he muttered, taking a swig of pumpkin juice—it was only then that Ever noticed that the boys each had a jug at their feet—and swiping his hand on the back of his mouth as the twins cackled madly. “Anyway,” he said a bit louder of the giggles of the two red-heads, “they mostly work for pure-blood families. They get ordered about and wear rags and they can only be set free if their master gives them clothes.” 

“That's...that's slavery! That's barbaric!” Ever exclaimed, careful to keep her voice down; the Gryffindors may be nice enough about her blood status, but she'd quickly learned that a few of them still held old pure-blood ideals. Lee shrugged apologetically, nibbling at a new bean cautiously before tossing it into his mouth.

“It's just the way it's always been. There's a little group of muggle-borns and half-bloods that are trying to change it, according to my dad, but I don't think they're getting very far.” Ever just shook her head, glancing down at the chocolate frog card in her hand as she tossed the wrapper in the fire. Dumbledore...as she read the little paragraph about him, she sighed again.

“I came down here to ask you guys something,” she said, lowering her voice again and leaning forward. The three of them followed suit. “I want to write a letter and send it home, tonight, but I know if I go out the prefects will be all over the place...can I borrow the map? Just to get to the Owlery?” Fred and George exclaimed a glance that looked more to her like a silent conversation; Fred cocked an eyebrow at his brother, who shrugged and nodded, and they both turned to her.

“I'll go get it,” Fred murmured. “You go get the letter.”

“I've still got to write it,” she admitted, feeling her face heat up the tiniest bit as Fred looked at her. “I'll be back down in twenty minutes or so. Besides, it'd look weird of both of us went up to our common rooms at the same time if Lee and George didn't go with you.” The four of them were now so much a part of each other that she knew it had probably looked weird when she'd disappeared for her shower and the five minutes she'd spent lying on her bed afterwards before she'd come downstairs to begin with. Fred seemed to know too, because he thought about it for a moment before nodding. 

“Go on then.” She smiled her thanks at him and hopped to her feet, hurrying to the common room. Alicia and Angelina weren't there—she'd seen the two of them in the common room when she'd come down—so she flopped to her bed and quickly plucked up a roll of parchment from her trunk and a quill and pot of ink from the drawer in her bedside table. 

_Dear you,_ she wrote quickly, and smiled at the familiar little greeting; it's how she and her parents had always written back and forth to each other when they were separated for any period of time, even if it was just a quick pop down the road and they weren't home in time for her arrival back from school. 

_Hogwarts is amazing, and I'm learning a lot, but it doesn't feel like home yet. Things are so different here, and sometimes I don't quite know what to do with myself, and there are all these strange words and phrases and I don't know how to deal with it all. I miss you tons. Halloween wasn't the same without going trick-or-treating back home, and I don't think it ever will be here, even though they do have a really big feast for the holiday and it's really nice and they have candy here for people that come from families like ours. I've got to head off and send this, my friends are waiting so we can go to the owlery together. I love you loads._

_Ever._

She scribbled a little heart at the end of her name, as she always did, and folded it in half, writing her name and address on the front of it—more out of habit than necessity—before heading back down the the common room. The twins and Lee were still in front of the fire, looking for all the world as if they'd never moved, but as she approached and walked past them Fred held up the map and she carefully took it, sticking it in the pocket of her sweats. She climbed out of the portrait hole quickly, purposefully, and didn't look back to see if anyone watched her leave. 

As soon as she was down the corridor, which was never guarded—under the guise that the Fat Lady would be more than capable of watching over it and reporting studients out of bed, though the twins and Lee had quickly discovered she didn't care so much about them leaving as she did them waking her up—she withdrew the map.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” she muttered, tapping the map carefully, and with the map spread out in front of her, she slowly made her way up to the owlery, avoiding prefects and teachers alike. 

The witch was so focused on getting _to_ the owlery, she didn't see who was actually _there._


	11. Chapter 11

Luckily, when Ever walked into the owlery, the boy was facing away from her. The trimmings of his robes matched hers—red and gold—but that didn't mean anything; he could easily be a prefect, or a tattle-tale, somebody hoping to get in a teacher's good books and have her in trouble in an instant, and she felt her heart catch in her throat as she stumbled backwards. A quick glance at the map told her his name—Oliver Wood? She'd heard that name before, but she couldn't remember where—and before she could creep back the way she came, he had turned around and was staring right at her. 

“Oh—hello,” he stammered, and Ever couldn't help relaxing a bit; the boy was obviously as surprised to see her as she was to see him. “Er...got a letter to send, then?” he asked, nodding to the map in her hand. She glanced at it, biting down on her lip, before tucking it into her pocket and withdrawing the letter.

“Yeah, but um...those were just directions to get to the owlery,” she fibbed, feeling a bit guilty as she did so. Wood seemed like a nice enough guy—he wasn't running to turn her in, anyway—but she couldn't just tell her the secret of the map...that was for the four of them. “I got a prefect to write them down earlier, 'cause I've never been up here before and my memory for directions is dreadful, you see, and I got a bit lost so that's why I'm up so late...” She was babbling, she realized, and managed to cut herself off, nibbling on her thumbnail. “Sorry. I'm Ever.” 

“Oliver,” he said easily, turning back to the owl in front of him and struggling to knot the tie on the bird's outstretched leg. She walked up beside him and found another bird, coaxing it down. It blinked at her, rather indignantly, before swooping down to rest in front of her and ruffling it's feathers. The boy beside her chuckled, and she glanced up at him as she started tying her note to it's leg. “The birds here don't like to be rattled later than they're used to,” he explained, finally getting his letter tied on and leaning back on the window sill as the owl took off to deliver it. “I know owls are usually, well, night owls, but these have been trained to be up during the day so students aren't up here past curfew.”

“Except you,” Ever observed, biting back a smile as her own bird took off. She hopped up to sit on the window sill beside him, kicking her feet idly.

“Well,” he mumbled, ruffling his hair. “Quidditch practice ran a bit late, and my mum goes mad if she doesn't have a letter every Tuesday morning—she's liable to come down to the school herself just to check on me—so I had to come up and send it tonight so it'd be there with the morning post.” 

“You play quidditch?” Automatically, she was interested. The first years had their first flight lesson scheduled for the following afternoon after lunch with a woman called Madame Hooch, and Charlie had informed her that, while the instructor was nice enough, the woman took no nonsense...and she hadn't really heard anything about quidditch, other than the conversation with Angelina and Alicia outside of Transfiguration on the first day of term. “What's it like, flying?” 

“Oh, it's like anything else, really.” Oliver shrugged, folding his arms over his chest, and she noticed that, now that the conversation was on something that the boy was interested in, he seemed much more confident and at ease. “Y'know how the muggles have that saying, it's like riding a bicycle, you never forget?”

“Yeah...” 

“It's a bit like that. Once you get on a broom you don't forget how flying feels. It's quite a bit different from a bicycle though.” He grinned, his eyes—green, they were, a sort of pale green that was quite lovely—crinkling up around the corners. “It's like, you take off and at first everything but your stomach leaves the ground. Eventually it catches up a bit, but the faster you fly the more you feel like it's being left behind. It doesn't come back until you hit the ground for more than five minutes, and then you're likely to lose your lunch if you're not used to it, but it's a great feeling once you are. Well,” he said, shooting another little grin in her direction, “it is for some people. You're a first-year, aren't you? Haven't had flying lessons yet?” 

“They start tomorrow,” Ever murmured, feeling a bit more nervous about the prospect than she had previously. “Is it really so bad?”

“Nah, you just get a bit nervous. I would suggest eating a light lunch.” She nodded, tucking her feet underneath her and feeling the cold concrete bite into her bare ankles. There was a lull for a moment, both of them lost in their own thoughts, before she managed to jerk herself out of it. 

“What position do you play?” 

“What? Oh. Keeper.” He stretched his arms over his head with a little yawn. “I would've been playing last year, except my mum wasn't ecstatic with my Transfiguration marks and she figured I'd better wait until they were up a bit.” Ever grinned, and he rolled his eyes, smirking at her. “Yeah, yeah, very funny. They're up now, in any case, so I tried out and I made it. Charlie's a great quidditch captain too, he knows exactly what he's doing on the pitch—“

“Is it called a pitch, then? I thought it'd be a court, or a ring, or a course—“ Oliver blinked at her, and she sighed. “Never mind. Is quidditch the only sport in the wizarding world, then?” He snorted, shaking his head.

“I figured you were muggle-born before, but now I know you've got to be,” he said, and she scowled up at him. “Oi, it's not an insult! You've just come up with all these words I don't know, it's not a very hard deduction!” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the window frame, cocking an eyebrow at him as she did so. “Right, well...” The boy sighed, tugging on his earlobe as he thought. “There's shuntbumps, where people try to knock the other players off their brooms—“

“But people could get hurt doing that!” Ever exclaimed, shocked; first there were the bludgers in quidditch, as if that wasn't awful enough, but now people knocked _each other_ to the ground?

“Well, they could, and they did when it was a real sport, but now it's mostly a kid's game played on toy broomsticks and those only go about three feet up.” Oliver shrugged, sliding his hands into the pockets of his robes. “Then there's a broom race in Sweden, they hold that every year, and there's swivenhodge, where you hit a ball back and forth over a hedge...”

“Like tennis.”

“What's that?” 

“It's a muggle sport,” the girl began slowly, gauging his reaction; some wizards were avidly fascinated with muggle things, and some scoffed at them. He seemed to be somewhere between the two with politely interested. “You've got a net strung up across the court, which is rectangular, and rackets, and you hit a yellow ball about this big,” and she demonstrated with her hands, “across the net, back and forth. If someone misses, or it goes out of bounds, like across the lines that are drawn out for the court, or if the ball bounces more than once, the other person gets a point.”

“It's a bit like that, yeah.” He nodded, rubbing at his eyes. “Only if the ball in swivenhodge hits the ground at all, it's a point, since it's meant to be played on brooms, and the ball is a bit smaller, more like...” He put his fingers together, and the only thing she could think of to compare the size to was a hackey sack. “And instead of rackets they use their hands.” 

“Well, maybe after I learn to fly we can play,” said Ever, chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully as she hopped from the windowsill. “But I better be getting back...” 

“Yeah, me too,” said Oliver quickly, pushing off from the ledge with a grin. “I'll walk you so you don't get lost again.” 

The walk back to the common room was cautious, with the two of them constantly on the lookout for anyone patrolling, but went by quickly and quietly, and eventually the two of them were clamboring through the portrait hole after a very stern look from the Fat Lady. Oliver said his goodbyes and quickly joined his friends, while Ever made her way toward the twins and Lee in their usual spot.

“What was that all about?” Fred asked as she sat down in her chair, passing the map back to him. Ever shrugged.

“Met him in the owlery and told him the map was instructions to get there and I was late because I'd gotten lost.”

“Well, it wasn't exactly a lie,” Lee pointed out, yawning. “You were following a map, after all.” 

“I hadn't exactly thought about it like that...but I guess you're right,” said Ever, with a yawn as well. Within the next five minutes, all four of them were yawning, and with a quick joke about how yawns were meant to be contagious they headed up to their dormitories.


	12. Chapter 12

Hogwarts didn't have _exams,_ per se; not the kind that Ever thought of, in any case. Most of her tests throughout the term were practical in nature, and so when Christmas-time came around the witch had to blink and take a step back, wondering where all the time had gone. She signed her name on the going-home sheet, as did the Gryffindor boys, on the morning of the seventeenth, and made her way down to the Great Hall with them. Usually, the hall was full, but that morning everyone seemed to be giving one particular area a wide berth, and the Weasley twins, being _the_ Weasley twins, each grabbed on to one of Ever's hands and dragged her through the throng, only to stop short when they came across a crying boy leaning against the wall. For a moment, none of them knew what to do...and then Lee, slamming into Ever's back in his hurry to catch up to the others, involuntarily shoved her forward, and the Hufflepuff looked up at her muttered “ow.” Caught, she managed a smile, sitting down in front of him.

“What's wrong?” The boy opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed hard, and opened it again before shaking his head. His hair was long—longer than hers, so long that he was almost sitting on it—and blond, and some distant part of her mind chimed in about how she'd like to braid it before she forced herself to focus on the matter at hand. 

“Is there—I mean, is there anything we can do to help?” He shook his head mutely again, and, after a moment, Ever climbed slowly to her feet and walked back over to the boys. 

“You lot go ahead,” she whispered, pushing Fred gently—for he was at the head of the three—toward the Great Hall. “I'll be in there in a bit. Gonna make sure he's alright.” The red-heads kept their eyes on her for a moment before George nodded and grabbed his brother by the arm, leading him and Lee away. Ever made her way back over to the blond and slid down the wall to sit beside him, looping her arm through his. He blinked up at her again, and when he did, she saw the surprise there, and the confusion.

“Why didn't you go with them?” he asked, dragging the back of his hand across his eyes and sniffling loudly. 

“Because...you looked like you needed a friend more than they did right now.” When the boy teared up again, she chewed at her lip, wondering if she'd said the wrong thing. “Um...what's your name?” 

“Star,” he managed. “Well, Staris, but most people just call me Star. Or Tellar. Or 'oi, move out of the way, was your father a giant?'” Ever bit back a smile; he _was_ rather tall. Even sitting down, his head was almost a foot above hers.

“Yeah, well my name's Ever Moore, if you can believe it.” She squeezed his arm in hers gently, craning her neck to look into his eyes. It was a hard thing, to meet his eyes when they were such a pretty grey—they looked like molten silver—but so red-rimmed. “We should start a club of strange names.” 

“We should,” he mumbled, wiping his eyes again. For a while, there was silence, with the two of them leaning against one wall and staring out at the students passing by, and then, out of the blue, “My mum died. I just got the letter.” 

“I—I'm sorry,” Ever stammered, for lack of anything better to say. Star nodded, keeping his eyes on the floor, and for a few moments she kicked herself, keeping her eyes fixed on her shoes. “I know that's the last thing you want to hear,” she finally forced herself to say. “'Cause my mum died right before term started, y'see, so I remember how people were all up in each other's faces and talking about how great a person she was when they barely knew her, or when they'd said bad things about her behind her back before she was gone. Half the people at the funeral didn't even like her. But since I've gotten here I've been writing letters to her in my head, just so I've got someone to tell, 'cause I'm muggle born—“

“Yeah,” Star mumbled, and his hand found his way over hers. She locked their fingers together, fighting off the tears burning her own eyes, because this wasn't about her; this was about Star, and she wasn't going to take this grieving from him. “And all these other kids, they talk about their mums and dads every day, and I don't know what to do with myself anymore, see? And there's one guy, you probably know him, he's on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, he especially talks about his mum a lot, talking about how his younger brothers get letters sent home all the time—“

“Charlie Weasley?”

“Yeah, him.” Star didn't sound surprised that she knew his name; he didn't sound like he was feeling much of anything. “Yeah, he talks about his little brothers and his mum and his dad and I've just been sitting here thinking how lucky he is, really, because he's got all that. And my dad, he died a long time ago, back when I was really little, three or four, so I don't really remember him and I just...I don't know what to do right now.” Ever sighed quietly, wrapping her arm around his waist and squeezing his hand. 

“Now you do this. Now you cry.” 

And he did.

For over an hour, the two of them sat like that, and they cried together. They missed the rest of breakfast and most of their first period, but neither of them cared much. Eventually, though, Ever noted the time, and helped Star to his feet. Standing up, he easily towered two feet over her 4'2”, and he had the stretched look of a teenager who was still growing, and it was a bit of an awkward walk down to the Hufflepuff common room with the two of them holding tightly to each other's hands. People looked at the two of them, with their red-rimmed eyes and their runny noses, but they paid the other students no attention. 

“What's your first class for today?” Ever composed herself enough to ask, finally letting go of his hand as they got to the painting of the bowl of fruit that the kitchens were hidden behind. 

“Transfiguration.” Star scrubbed at his face with both hands, swallowing hard. The witch nodded, hugging the boy hard. After a moment, he relaxed enough to hug her back. She smiled up at him as she pulled back, nodding to the painting.

“If you tickle the pear it leads to the kitchens. Go get yourself something to drink. Butterbeer if they've got it. The house elves are always happy to serve, and they don't ask questions, but...” She shrugged, sliding her hands into the pockets of her robes. “If you want to talk anymore, they'll listen. I'll go tell McGonagall why you weren't in class. And send me an owl if you need someone else to talk to.” The boy surprised her by grabbing her up in another hug, lifting her off her feet and holding her close for a quick minute. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled, and then he was gone, through the portrait, and she was standing alone and missing the warmth of his hand around hers. 

_It's nice,_ she thought as she made her way upstairs slowly, _having someone that knows and that gets it;_ she had to force that line of thought away before it got the better of her again. McGonagall was in her office; Ever caught her just as she was leaving, preparing for her next lesson. After a quick glance from the professor, and a hasty explanation from the pupil, the girl was—to her surprise—excused from the rest of her lessons for the day.

“Rest, Moore,” McGonagall commanded, in a tone that would accept no argument. Ever swallowed her protests and nodded quickly, making her way to the common room. 

Charlie sat in his usual spot, with some other sixth years she didn't know. She swallowed hard and walked up to him, gently tugging on his sleeve. 

“Oi, who's—oh, hey Ever—wait, are you alright?” The girl shook her head and pulled him away from the group, toward the relative privacy of the fireplace, and took a deep breath.

“This is going to sound weird,” she mumbled, her voice breaking on the last word, “especially since you're going home next week, but do me a favor, alright?”

“Sure,” said Charlie, brow furrowed. “What is it?” 

“Write your mum and tell her how much you love her.” She only took a moment to register the look on his face—confusion, acceptance, a weird mix of the two of them—before the tears began to flow again, and she turned and ran up to the dormitories.


	13. Chapter 13

It was strange, she thought, walking down to the carriages—what pulled them?—with Star on one side and the Weasley twins conspiring in a little huddle with Lee Jorden on her other that it had only been four months since she'd first gotten on the train to begin with, and now she was heading back to King's Cross where her father would be waiting for her...at least, she hoped he would be. She'd sent him an owl when she'd found out what day they were leaving to come home, and told him what time the train was meant to be arriving, but just like her first letter there had been no reply. Ever managed to shove the thoughts away—her father wasn't much of a writer, of course he would be there, he'd want to see his daughter, wouldn't he?—and looked up at Star. The blond forced a little smile.

“I wish you were coming with us,” said Ever, grabbing his hand and squeezing gently. He shrugged, sliding his free hand into the pocket of his robe. 

“I'll probably be better off here, if I'm honest. More to do. Not as much time to sulk about.” 

“I'll send you an owl as soon as I can find one.” 

“They've got post offices all about, if you know where to look,” said Star, stopping in front of the empty carriage the twins and Lee were climbing into. “You said you lived in Cardiff, right?” She nodded quickly, pulling her coat around her to keep out the wind. “It shouldn't be too hard to find one, the city is huge, and the muggles won't be able to see it. Ever seen a building or something that didn't look like it ought to be there, before you came to school?” The girl thought about it a moment before nodding slowly. 

“There's a place not far from my house...I always thought it was a fairy house when I was little, 'cause it had ivy growing up the walls and flowers growing in the boxes in the middle of winter, and there was always smoke in the chimney on the hottest days, but it didn't _smell_ like smoke, it was sweet...” Star managed a weak grin, nodding.

“Probably just a little healer. Treats things like colds and bad headaches, like Madame Pomfrey does for us, only the healer there wouldn't have our greenhouses so whoever it is would have to grow their own. If you can't find a post office, go ask, they'll probably be helpful enough.” 

“Come on, Ever, the carriage is about to pull off!” said Fred—or George, she wasn't sure which—and when she looked down the line, the first of the carriages were indeed moving. The witch threw her arms around Star's waist quickly, hugged the boy tight, and turned to let Lee pull her into the carriage.

“Why are you crying?” 

“I...didn't realize I was,” Ever murmured, but when she put her hands to her cheeks there were tears there, only just started. She forced them to a stop quickly, shaking her head. “I'm just going to miss Star and the castle, that's all.”

“S'alright,” said Fred easily, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “It's only for a couple of weeks.”

“And then you'll be right back here with us!” said George, squishing her between himself and his brother. Lee grinned and flopped down on the floor of the carriage, throwing his arms around her legs. Ever rolled her eyes.

“I'm going to miss you three, too.” 

It only took Ever a few minutes to find her dad; he was tall—taller than Star, and last time she'd asked he'd told her he was six foot five—and he was holding a big sign with her name on it, painted in different colors. The twins hadn't yet found their mother—or so they said; Ever suspected they were avoiding a bustling red-haired lady that she'd seen just after they'd gotten off the train—and decided to tag along with her to meet him, after bidding Lee Jordan a cheerful goodbye. Ever grabbed the handles of her cart and ran over to him, and in a moment she was swooped up into her father's arms in a tight hug. 

“I missed the hell out of you,” mumbled the man into her shoulder. 

“I missed you too!” As he put her down, Ever stared eagerly up at her dad's face. He looked just the way she remembered! For some reason, she had expected him to have aged a lot more in the past four months, but she looked much the same as she'd left him four months before...she had his eyes, the same shape, the same shade of green, the same dark lashes...and something about the set of his mouth was in her face too, she knew, or people had told her...but other than that she had her mum's face, and oh, was _that_ why he was looking at her like that? The man looked like his heart was going to break just from looking at her, even behind how happy he was to see her, and abruptly she felt more tears flood her eyes—and how much was she going to cry this week exactly?—and she threw her arms around him again, clinging close to his waist. His arms wrapped loosely around her back, but his attention was no longer there, and after a quick glance she found him staring at the Weasley twins and directed her attention at the two of them. 

Fred was grinning; it wasn't his usual wicked grin, the one that said that he was planning something. There was something softer around the edges of his eyes, and after a quick look exchanged between the two red-heads, George mirrored the expression. Ever grinned at both of them, grabbing her dad's hand and tugging him forward—with no real force; it wasn't as if she could've moved him, even if she'd wanted to—and positioned him in front of the boys for a formal introduction. 

“Dad,” she said grandly, and the twins' grins widened, took on a little air of their normal mischief as she swooped her arm in their direction. “Fred and George Weasley. Fred and George Weasley, my dad, Aaron Moore.” 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Moore,” said George dutifully.

“And great job raising your daughter,” added Fred, hands behind his back. The two of them were the picture of innocence, and Ever was suddenly very glad the two of them couldn't do magic outside of school. Mr. Moore looked between the two of them, bemused, and leaned down to whisper in Ever's ear, 

“Which is which?” 

“Fred is on the left,” said Ever, “and George is on the right.” The twins blinked at her, and then at each other.

“Where'd you learn to do that, then?” asked Fred. Ever grinned, shaking her head. 

“You never tell me anything. A girl needs to keep her secre—“

“Oh, there you are boys! I thought you were going to be waiting on the platform...” The red-haired lady Ever had seen earlier—definitely their mother, then—was scuttling up to the four of them. The two oldest Weasley boys were on either side of her, with Percy behind, attending to two younger children with the same exact shade of flaming ginger hair. 

“Fred! George!” the little girl shouted, throwing herself at the two, and both of them caught her under one of their arms. 

“Ginny!” 

“Have you been a good girl while we've been gone?” asked Fred.

“No! I put newt eyes in Ron's soup while he wasn't looking at dinner at yesterday!”

“That's our girl,” said George. Their mother, looking more tired and used to this treatment than embarrassed, sighed and looked around, catching Mr. Moore's eye. 

“Mum, Mum, this is Ever Moore, the girl we wrote you about,” said Fred. 

“No, no, you've got to do it right,” said George, pulling his mother forward. “Mum,” he continued, gesturing just as grandly as Ever had, “this is Ever Moore, and her father Aaron Moore. Mr. Moore and Ever, this is our mum, Molly Weasley.” 

“It's lovely to meet you both—“ 

“Mum, where's Dad?” 

“He's gone to get the floo powder, dear.” Mrs. Weasley smiled again at the two of them, looking decidedly harried, and put the boys to work getting their carts ready. “I'm sorry to dash away on you,” she told the Moores, “but we've got to get the boys home and their things put away and Ginny and Ron need to be put to bed soon—“

“But mum, we're not tired!”

“Yeah, we wanna stay up and see the boys!”

“I understand,” Mr. Moore said, with a grin especially for little Ginny. She smiled sunnily back. “We'd better be going too, Ever, it's getting late...” Ever nodded, grabbing on to her cart. 

“Well...see you in a couple of weeks then,” she murmured with a little wave. Fred and George scoffed and let go of their carts a final time, grabbing her up in a big group hug. 

“Write us, tell us about your holiday.” 

“Be good, don't get in too much trouble,” she retorted. The boys grinned their identical wicked grins and winked at her before turning to catch up with their mother. 


	14. Chapter 14

_Dear boys,_

_I don't have a lot of parchment and I'm not sure where exactly the post office is quite yet and I still need to send a note to Star and I don't know if owls will carry regular muggle paper in a regular muggle envelope—what if the weight throws them off or something? I don't have any idea about these things, there's still so much I don't know—but it's been a great holiday! It's just my dad and me here, so it's been kind of quiet, really, but it's not the bad sort! I've got a few new muggle books that I know you'll scoff at when I bring them back in my trunk, because who wants to read about girls two hundred years ago? Ah, that's right, I do._

_Anyway, you'll have to send me a note back as soon as you can because I miss you like crazy! I know it's only a week and a bit before we're back in school, but tell me all about your mum and dad and your sister and brothers!_

_Love from,_

_Ever._

* * *

_Dear Star,_

_I've just gotten around to picking up a pen and paper, and I don't really know what to write now that I've gotten here. Christmas at home has been...alright, but it's quite lonely without Mum, and I don't know what to write to make you less lonely without yours. I wish I knew the spell to make little drawings and things move, but even if I did I wouldn't be able to use it, so I suppose it doesn't matter. I can doodle things on the margins for you, though, and I'm sending you some of the chocolate that was in my stocking this year because I've heard that chocolate makes everything better, and I can't exactly disagree. AND, this chocolate doesn't bounce about on you when you open the package! There are no cool cards to collect with it, though, sorry about that. Anyway, I was thinking—you know what I told you about writing letters to my mum? Well, I don't know if that'll help you, but you could always write letters to me. We could pass them back and forth in the hall and stuff, and maybe that would help, just getting everything you feel down on paper. My mum wrote in journals and then ripped out the pages and burned them to get rid of the bad things. Maybe getting rid of the bad this way could help. I don't know. Maybe that's stupid. I miss you terribly._

_Love from,_

_Ever._

* * *

 

On Monday morning, after her dad had left for work, Ever scribbled a quick note— _gone out to find the post office for witches and wizards, be back by lunch if all goes well, love you loads, Ever, little heart—_ and slipped out of her house with two small rolls of parchment in one pocket of her jeans and a few knuts in the other, hoping that it would be enough to cover whatever postage fee she may have to pay. It only took her five minutes to walk down the street to the little healer's shop—if that was, in fact, what it was—but once she got there, she couldn't quite bring herself to knock on the door. What if this was all a mistake, and this was just a really strange house that somehow just...had flowers? Ever knew she was being ridiculous, of _course_ it had to be a witch or wizard's house, what _else_ could it be, but it took her a good five minutes of standing at the doorway before she worked up the courage to raise her hand to knock. Before her knuckles touched the wood, the door was open, and there stood a woman—young, pretty, and again Ever was thrown off by just how _un-_ witchy someone in long flowing black robes and a pointy hat could be, without the warts or green skin or the like—smiling kindly down at her.

“Can I help you, dear?” For a moment, Ever couldn't answer; she was transfixed by the woman's hair. It was red, not quite the fire-engine color of the Weasleys, but in the lighting from inside the little cottage, it looked almost...pink.

“Er, sorry, I was just...” The young witch swallowed hard, and the older witch smiled again, gently ushering her inside and out of view of muggle onlookers.

“All the muggles see is a broken down old shack here,” the woman explained quietly as she sat her down at the table a promptly placed a cup of tea in front of her, “and it wouldn't do to have a little girl standing in front of that. Someone might call the police and tell them there's a little girl risking asbestos at the end of the lane.” Ever managed a smile as the lady plopped two sugars in her tea and a dash of milk, just as she liked it, and conjured a spoon to stir it all together for her. “So, what can I do for you, lovely?”

“What is this place?” the girl asked, staring around in wide-eyed wonder as she took a sip of the tea. There were sculptures all about the front room, sculpted from wires or paper or cardboard...whatever, it seemed, the older witch was able to get her hands on. Some of them moved, creaking back and forth, bending, swaying, while others were stationary. On the counter and mantle, there were mortars and pestles and measuring cups and...it was a strange mix of muggle and wizarding objects. Ever wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

“Well, on my resume,” the woman began, taking a seat across the girl with a steaming mug of what smelled like coffee, “it says I'm a healer. In my free time, I make sculptures like those.” She nodded to the closest one, a wire sculpture in the shape of a butterfly that was flapping its wings gently. “That's the newest one.” When Ever met the woman's gaze—she had very green eyes, brighter than Ever's and her Dad's, brighter than Charlie and Bill's blue—the lady grinned down at her easily, like they'd been friends for a very long time, and the girl couldn't help feeling at ease.

“What's your name?” she asked, sipping on her tea.

“You can just call me Merit, love,” said the witch easily, mimicking the little girl. “Now, what is it you came here looking for? Have you got a headache or a stomachache? I wouldn't think you'd come to a healer, not with all the muggle medicine that's probably in your cabinet at home...”

“No, actually, I was...I was hoping you could help me find a post office around here somewhere. My friend, Star, he told me this was probably a healer's house by the way I described it, and—“

“That wouldn't be Star Tellar, would it?”

“Yes!” The girl perked up immediately. “I've just met him at school, you see...”

“Heard about his mother,” said Merit, swirling her coffee and staring down into the mug. “Terrible thing. She was a brilliant witch and a brilliant woman. Taught dance for little muggle students. Ballet mostly.” There was no condecension in her voice, and automatically Ever found herself liking the woman that much more; when her own mum had died, there had been plenty of that, but every word from this woman's mouth was genuine. She'd actually liked and respected Star's mum.

“Anyway, love,” sighed Merit, standing and directing the girl to the door. “To get to the nearest post office, you'll go straight down this street, and at the sign up there you'll turn left. It's just a few blocks down, and you won't miss it, there are owls all in the windows. It takes a knut to send a message if it's just a letter, and if you've got a little present or something you want to attach that's an extra knut—best prices in Cardiff for owl post when you haven't got your own, if I'm honest.”

“Thank you,” said Ever quietly. “For...everything.”

“You're quite welcome, lovely,” said Merit, tugging on the girl's ear very gently. “I know it's confusing, being a muggle born girl in the wizarding world, especially the first year or so. You just come back if you need anything, got it?” Ever nodded quickly, smiling up at her before she turned and headed in the direction Merit had directed her.

_And,_ she thought, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jeans, _I will. I definitely will._


	15. Chapter 15

_Ever,_

_We've found out how to get into the passageway with the humpbacked witch!_

_Happy Christmas, by the way. Mum and Dad didn't really know what you'd like, but we told them you were a bookworm and you really liked learning about more magic stuff, since you're not really from around our side o' the woods, so Mum stuck in a book or two and Dad put in a few of the Ministry of Magic pamphlets, 'cause we're not even sure if you_ _**know** _ _about the Ministry, now that we think on it. And if this gets to you late, well, it's 'cause our owl is a bloody idiot and old as dirt to boot._

_Anyway, we were mucking about with the map the other night, and we were just watching people go around the school, the ones who stayed on holiday—Star especially, we know you're worried about him so we've been looking him up and he spends a lot of time in the kitchens with the house elves, and it's funny, they show up on the map too, so whoever made it had to've known about them, we reckon—and Freddie was tracing the path to the witch with his wand and when he tapped the picture of the statue, this little word bubble came out of her mouth. We'll tell you the password when we see you, 'cause we don't want to risk this falling into the wrong hands—_ at that, Ever couldn't help but snort; who's hands would it have fallen into in her little neighborhood, other than Merit? And what would Merit care?— _and we know that sounds a bit daft but Dad says it all the time and we think it sounds cool, all undercover agent and stuff._

_Anyway, Ginny's yelling upstairs for us to come down to dinner, so we'll send this off in a bit and hopefully you'll get it on Christmas, or Boxing Day at least._

_Gred and Forge_

Ever giggled as she put down the letter, casting her eyes to the box that they'd sent along with a poor owl who looked like he was on his last leg. She wondered, idly, as she fed him a few treats she'd picked up from the post office—it turned out they not only sent letters, but sold owls and everything one needed to take care of them as well—what his name was, and resolved to ask the twins as soon as she saw him, but...for now the box was calling her name, and she pulled it over. 

As was always her way with presents, she opened it slowly, untying the ribbon somebody had attached—probably Mrs. Weasley—and laying it to the side, and then pulling off the tape. Inside were a couple of books—old, well-worn novels, ones that made her heart skip a beat in her chest and touched her in a way that she couldn't put into words; Mrs. Weasley had clearly sent her two of her favorites—and a few pamphlets, just like the twins had said. Beneath that there was more chocolate than she thought she could ever eat, but she flopped down on her bed beside the box and immediately popped a piece into her mouth, grabbing the first book. 

“ _Break With A Banshee,_ ” Ever whispered, turning it over to look at the back cover. Instead of a little blurb, as was the norm for muggles, she was faced with a portrait of a good-looking blond man winking up at her. She jumped, dropping the book on the bed beside her. She had barely gotten used to the portraits on the walls at school moving, let alone one on a cover of a book. Slowly, with deliberate care—there was something she didn't like in his face, and she was half convinced that he was going to jump up and bite her if she got too close him—she reached over the first book and into the box to grab the second. What she pulled out of the box took her breath away.

The book was old and clearly loved by many little hands; there was a stain here, a rip there, and little fingerprints all along the metal embellishments along the cover. It was leather-bound, and when she opened it, the print looked as though it was handwritten. In the center of the page, in ink that changed colors—from gold to red, black to yellow, green to silver, and violet to bronze—and in a beautiful script, was _The Tales of Beedle The Bard._ Beneath that, in a neat, flowery script, Mrs. Weasley had written her own little note. 

_Ever,_

_My children have enjoyed this book as long as I think they're going to, and I think it's time it got passed on to someone who may still appreciate it. I've heard you get on well with Charlie, and if you're anything like him you'll particularly love these little fairytales. Happy Christmas, dear._

_Molly Weasley_

For a moment, Ever just stared at the words on the page. She read them once, twice, a third time, and closed the little book, holding it tight to her chest and staring at her bedside table, where a picture of her mom made its home. All at once, she forgot about how the moving pictures had bothered her, had seemed so unnatural, and wished that this one would move, the the woman in profile smiling up at the child she held above her head would turn and smile at Ever as she was now, eleven years old and missing her more than she ever had. The first year had heard that getting over the death of someone you loved took time, and that it would get better, but it had been nearly six months and every time she was reminded of her she still wanted to break down and cry... Slowly, she put the book with Gilderoy Lockheart's moving face—it didn't even phase her now—into the box, placed the box on the floor, and curled up on her side, staring at that picture. She didn't cry; she supposed she might have been cried out, with all that she had done over the past two weeks, since she'd met Star and been reminded of how she'd been just a few months before, leaning against a wall away from anyone and not caring who may pass and see the tears rolling down her face... But she wanted to. 

After a moment of fighting to get her breath back, Ever sat up and opened the book. Carefully flipping past the title page—if she saw the note again, she knew she would break down—she began to read.


	16. Chapter 16

“I'll see you later, love.” Ever threw her arms around her father's neck, and squeaked when he picked her up and hugged her tightly. She buried her face in his shoulder, clinging tight, and heard him take one long, slow breath before sitting her down. His hand went to her cheek, her chin, and brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Tons.” Mr. Moore grinned, dropped one eye in a wink, and ushered her toward the platform. 

“Be good. Write me. Get good grades. Make good choices. Don't kiss boys.”

“Dad!” The man laughed and tugged gently on her ponytail before kissing the top of her head. She turned to Nine and Three Quarters, situated her cart, and closed her eyes—she still couldn't work up the courage to walk through with them open, she was half afraid she was just going to slam into the brick wall and behind her her dad would ask what she was doing and point her toward the right train to her boring boarding school and Hogwarts would have all been a dream—and ran through as fast as she could. When she dared to open her eyes, she was surrounded by kids in jeans and t-shirts and parents in mismatched muggle clothes and owls and cats in carriers and—she let out a big breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and smiled. It _wasn't_ just a dream, and until that moment, after two weeks at home in her normal muggle neighborhood—even with the fairy tales she had stashed in her trunk, and the book with the blond man's picture on the back that she still hadn't read, and Merit and the post office and everything magical she'd found hiding in her little community—she'd almost convinced herself that it had been, just so she wouldn't be disappointed if it turned out to be. 

“Oi, Moore!” 

“Lee!” The boy in question ran toward her, throwing his arms around her neck for a brief second, and was letting go before she could hug him back. “How are you, then?” 

“I'm great but we have to go, Fred and George are gonna be here in a bit and you've gotta put your trunk in the compartment before someone else comes in and tries to steal it if we're all gonna sit on the same one and they have to tell us about you-know-what when they get here and—“

“Are you talking about us?” The two first years jumped, looking around, and there, coming from the brick wall that separated the platform from the rest of the station, was a flood of red-heads. Bill, Charlie, and Percy were already heading toward the train, and the youngest brother had just walked in behind the twins, grudgingly holding hands with his little sister. Ever practically bounced up to the boys, throwing one arm around each of their necks, and the boys laughed as they hugged her back. She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment—it was a relief to touch the two of them, to convince herself that they, too, were real, not just part of some dream—and when she opened them, Mrs. Weasley was smiling over at the three of them with a fondness that made Ever's heart swell til she thought it might burst. Beside her, a red haired man—he could only be Mr. Weasley—was looking slightly bemused at his two identical boys, but not displeased. Ever quickly backed up, and, shooting a quick grin at the twins and ran up to Mrs. Weasley.

For a moment, she could only look at the woman, mouth hanging open stupidly, while the woman smiled kindly down at her. 

“Thank you,” she finally forced out, but it came out quiet, hoarse, choked, and it didn't sound good enough, it wasn't _enough_ enough, so she swallowed hard and took a deep breath and tried again. “Thank you. So much. For everything.” It still wasn't _enough_ enough, but the train whistle was blowing and her throat was closing up again and she couldn't think of another word to say. 

“You're welcome, dear.” Mrs. Weasley leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, and there was no more said on the matter. The woman turned and gave Fred and George the same treatment—the boys complained good-naturedly, squirming away and trying to head for the train—and then she shooed them all toward the door with a knowing little smile on her face. 

Within ten minutes, the train was rocking down the tracks steadily and the four of them were seated comfortably in the compartment Lee Jordan had picked out—“which,” he had explained as they'd slid the door shut, “is in the optimal position, because we're half down from the loo and half from the snack trolley when she's not walking along the aisles”—and the four of them were talking each other's ears off, barely pausing for breath, when Charlie poked his head in to check on them. 

“Alright in here, you lot?” 

“Yeah, Ever was just telling us about the muggle books she got for Christmas, there's one about this girl—“ began Fred.

“And she fancies herself a matchmaker, see—“ said George.

“And she's got this friend from a lower class that she's trying to set up with this bloke—“ Lee piped up.

“And it's not just a muggle book,” said Charlie, leaning against the doorframe and folding his arms over his chest. He looked at Ever, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “ _Emma_?” 

“Yeah! D'you know it?” 

“Yeah. Have you finished it yet?” 

“Nuh uh. I've just gotten to the bit where Emma is trying to do Miss Smith's portrait—“

“Oh yeah, that's a good bit.” Charlie grinned at her, and all at once Ever felt warm all over. She had never had someone who could talk about books with her before—there hadn't been many kids that _liked_ reading in her primary school at home—and she hadn't expected to find anyone who'd read books about muggles here. “I've got to get back, but I'll pop back in later.” 

“Always was a bit of a bookworm,” said Fred confidentially as his older brother slid the door shut behind him. 

“You make that sound like it's a bad thing,” Ever laughed, leaning back in her seat and hugging her copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard—_ she had been flipping through and looking at the stick figures scribbled by little hands in the margines and the illustrations that were actually _meant_ to be there, Babbity Rabbity hiding behind the cackling stump and the three brothers on the bridge magicked from nowhere to avoid death—and stuck her tongue out at the boy. Fred wrinkled his nose in response.

“Yeah, well reading's all well and good, but the bloke is sixteen and he's never really brought a girl home to meet Mum, has he?”

“Are you implying, Fred Weasley,” Ever began, and for a moment she really was angry, before she caught the twinkle of mischief in his eye, “that boys who read can't get girlfriends?” 

“No, no, not at all!” the red head replied airily, waving one hand in a way that was nearly dainty. “Just that _Charlie_ hasn't.”

“Well suppose he's not into girls, then,” she countered, propping a chin up in her hand. “Suppose he's into blokes.” For that, Fred seemed to have no answer. For a moment he stared at her, and then at his twin, bemused. Ever bit her lip, afraid she had said something wrong; her father had always gone mad whenever she'd suggested such a thing, saying it wasn't right or natural, but she'd never seen any problem with boys liking boys or girls liking girls...but suppose the twins did?

“Well...” began George slowly, looking to Ever. “That _would_ actually make sense.”

“We've caught him checking out the bums of the other quidditch players already this year at practice.”

“You two are horrible,” she sighed, relieved; at least they weren't angry. 

For the next seven hours, the four of them bickered and laughed as snow drifted down outside their window, and, as the ride drew to a close, Ever helped the boys finish off the holiday homework they'd left to the absolute last moment and scurried to the bathroom to change into her robes while the boys changed in the compartment. She changed quickly, not wanting to miss the first glimpse of the castle, and ran back to their little room barely stopping to knock. When she was admitted, she ran to the window just in time to see the towers rising over the hill. 

The first year hadn't expected the sight to take her breath away again, because, after all, she'd seen the castle grounds powdered with fresh snow before. Coming back to it, however, from a holiday that seemed like forever in retrospect, the blanket of white covering the grounds seemed so bright that her eyes hurt just looking at it. There weren't words for how gorgeous it was, so Ever said nothing, and, beside her, the Fred and George and Lee said nothing. For a moment, everything was absolutely perfect and still.

Then the prefects were calling into compartments, telling everyone to stay seated while the train was pulling into the station at Hogsmeade, and the silence was broken with a quiet sigh from all four of them as they followed instructions. The horseless carriages were waiting for them again as they dismounted, and for a moment Ever marvelled over them before she was shooed into the carriage by the boys grumbling over the cold. The girl only giggled, pulling her cloak more tightly around herself and hopping up into the carriage that was as warm as the compartments on the train—were they magic in other ways, ways that kept them warm?—and holding out her hand to help Fred up. 

Star Tellar was waiting for them at the gates of the castle, the third year that was sometimes mistaken for a teacher before people caught glimpses of the yellow and black trims on his robes. He was thin, much too thin, and for a moment Ever could almost believe that the boy was one of the ghosts that belonged to the castle before she blinked and he came back into focus. After that, it was obvious that he was solid; her arms were around him tighter than they'd ever been before, and as they walked through the arches into castle, her hand found his way into his.

For a moment, just a moment, Ever forgot that she was muggle-born. With one hand in Star's, Lee Jordan slinging an arm easily around her shoulder as he shot a cheerful wave at the grudgingly smiling Professor McGonagall, and the Weasley twins two steps behind her, she felt every bit like she belonged right where she was. 

  
  



End file.
